


my arms are tough, but they can be bent

by gameofthrows



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Docking, Dom/sub, Flogging, Light Bondage, Lots and lots of kinks to be added as they come up, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Semi-Public Sex, collaring, light come play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gameofthrows/pseuds/gameofthrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love stories don’t always start with a seventeen year old boy dropping to his knees in front of a man ten years his senior, but this one does. (Canon compliant timeline - D/S).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. do you want to be with somebody like me?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from: 'Can't Pretend' - Tom Odell  
> Chapter title from: 'Lonely Hearts Club - Marina and the Diamonds
> 
> This is a WIP and I'm notoriously bad at finishing what I start so read at your own risk! But my lovely beta starkwords is pushing me along so lots of thanks to her and hopefully with her continued encouragement I will actually complete this ridiculously long fic.

“Take me home,” Harry slurs wetly against Nick’s neck, limpet limbs latching on tightly onto whatever part of Nick they can grasp, one leg twines around Nick’s and a hand slides into Nick’s back pocket, and Nick isn’t sure when or why Harry had extracted himself from the gaggle of girls he was constantly surrounded by, but apparently he had in favor of cock-blocking Nick.

Nick glances apologetically at the blond twink he’s been chatting up for the better part of thirty minutes before turning his head to eye the mop of curls on his shoulder, “I thought you went home with Cara.”

“Nope,” Harry smacks the letters out like a particularly petulant toddler as he tries to bury his face in the collar of Nick’s shirt. “I wanna g’home with you.”

“Apparently I’m on babysitting duty,” Nick directs at the blond.

“I’d be up for a threesome,” The blond offers; his eyes hungry and fixed on Harry.

“Not tonight, mate,” Nick laughs. He waves the bartender over to pay his tab only to discover Harry had already closed them both out. The blond gives Nick an expectant look – expecting a mobile number probably –and Nick is sure he doesn’t actually want the number, but wants the validation of getting one. Instead, Nick gives him a sharp pat on the arse and leaves with his arm slung casually around Harry and a smirk hanging from his lips.

The chill in the air rapidly cools the sheen of sweat that had gathered on Nick’s face in the heat of the club and it sends a shiver down his spine but the adrenaline gained from drink and dance keeps him blissfully warm as he flags down a cabbie and shoves his drunk popstar inside.

“What’s your address, babe?” Nick asks him.

“I don’ wanna go to my house,” Harry protests. “I wanna go to your house.”

Nick laughs, “I’ve only got a lumpy guest bed on offer: It’s got broken springs! Don’t you have a giant popstar bed somewhere? I’d assume one with a naked girl constantly lounging in it for you to enjoy at your leisure. How would that work anyway? I’d imagine there’d probably have to be some sort of rotation system?”

“I’ve already started your meter,” The gruff cabbie reminds them. Nick reluctantly gives his own address and Harry crows in triumph.

“You love me,” Harry gloats, his lips pressed together in a thin smile and his eyes struggling to stay wide.

“Contrary to whatever shit people have been feeding you lately, whinging is not attractive no matter how pouty your cocksucker lips can get.” Nick wrinkles his nose haughtily. He’s lying through his teeth of course. Harry’s faux bravado and eagerness to please hits all of his kinks and has ever since he guiltily watched the One Direction video diaries at four in the morning under the cover of darkness (before he met Harry properly of course).

Harry crosses his arms and pouts in protest for the rest of the drive. Nick is glad for the silence and rests his sweat slickened forehead against the cool glass as he mentally weighs his chances for a hangover in the morning. He had taken Vicodin at the club which always made him slightly queasy, but he’d also stuck to vodka the entire night which rarely upset his stomach. He tilts his body back and forth for a minute, as if he could swish around the contents of his stomach to see if they were feeling particularly volatile, before deciding he’d be fine after a glass of water – or maybe he’d have a glass of wine instead.

They pull up at Nick’s building and Harry immediately latches onto Nick, his hands sliding up and under Nick’s shirt as he paid the cabbie. Nick self-consciously shoves Harry’s fingers away from where they’re prodding at his soft stomach and pushing the hairs opposite of their natural direction. By the time they get up the lift and into Nick’s flat, Harry has progressed to playfully punching Nick’s arm.

“No punches,” Nick snaps, his voice automatically dropping into a register usually saved for a different type of physical encounter.

Harry’s eyelashes flutter and drop, his lips part, and his hands immediately drop to his sides. He looks up at Nick imploringly through half lids. Confusion flashes through Harry’s eyes and he looks at Nick pleadingly for an explanation as his cheeks flush. Nick looks down at him, his own eyes widening: “No. This isn’t fair. Stop that.”

Harry lowers his head and let out a long shaky breath, “Nick.”

“No.” Nick tells him firmly.

Harry sinks to his knees, folding in on himself like he’s done it a million times before but his body is trembling and gives him away, “Nick. I don’t know. I…”

“It’s okay, babe,” Nick tells him with a sigh, reining in his own self control. He moves closer to Harry so he can drop his hand on the top of Harry’s head and tug gently at his sweat matted curls. “You’re alright.”

They stand there for a bit, how long Nick isn’t quite sure, marking time pushed aside as he silently chants: he is seventeen years old Eventually, Nick’s knees begin to lock up and he tugs Harry up and onto the couch. Harry’s eyes are wet in the dim lighting and his breath sharp with alcohol as he positions himself half on top of Nick on the couch. He ruts up against Nick’s jean clad leg, his cock hard and hot through the layers, and pleads wildly: “Nick. I haven’t - I need… Nick. Henry told me- Nick.”

Nick grabs at Harry’s thigh, wrapping his long fingers around the twitching muscle, covering most of it, and keeping Harry from moving. He waits until Harry’s eyes lift up to meet his and asks firmly: “What did Henry tell you?”

“Just that you,” Harry wiggles around breathlessly and lets out a whimper when Nick doesn’t let him move. “You know. Like to take control.”

“Harry, you’re seventeen,” Nick deserves an award for not pouncing on Harry immediately. He wants a certificate of sorts after this that he can wave in his friends’ faces whenever they tease about Nick fucking anything that has a modeling contract. He wants a medal blazoned with the words: “turned down Harry Styles”

“Henry said that you like them young.”

Nick gapes at him and Harry takes it as an opportunity to lean forward and press his chapped lips against Nick’s for a moment. Nick automatically returns the pressure, his hand releasing Harry’s thigh to tug sharply at the short soft curls at the nape of Harry’s neck until he uses the leverage to pull Harry away from him. Nick’s eyes soften and he can feel something resembling pity well up inside of him as he thought about the confusion he had felt when he realized that vanilla sex wasn’t going to cut it for him.

Harry’s face turns petulant and pouty again, “Why are you making this so difficult?”

“Because you’re drunk and underage!” Nick’s voice verges on slight hysteria. “And I told Annie Mac that her haircut looks dreadful so my karma is already in the negative for the week. Is this my punishment? Did she put you up to this?”

Blinking rapidly, Harry bolts upright suddenly and races from the room. Not long after he disappears around the corner, Nick hears the tell-tale sounds of someone unloading a nights worth of drinks and poppers into the toilet. Nick fills a glass with water from the spigot in the kitchen and goes to watch Harry’s heaving back from the safety of the doorway, “Better out than in.”

“Fuck off,” Harry’s voice comes out horse and muffled by the bowl.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No. Rub my back.”

“Spoiled brat,” Nick teases, but joins Harry on the cold floor. He unfolds his long legs around Harry’s hunched over form and rubs his hand against the goose bumps breaking out on Harry’s arm. “Cold sweats are the worst.”

“I’m never drinking again,” Harry moans.

“I’ll remind you of that in two days,” Nick laughs.

Harry lets out another horrible dry retch and mutters weakly, “I’m going to need at least a week to think this is a good idea again: Especially since you rejected my offer of sex.”

“Is that what that was? I thought you were just offering to hump me for a few minutes and then pass out.”

“I hate you.”

“C’mon popstar,” Nick helps him to his feet. “I think you’re finished here. I haven’t washed the spare sheets since Aimee stayed over but she generally doesn’t stink.”

Nick settles Harry in the spare room with a glass of water on the bedside table before quickly retreating to his own bedroom. Harry on his knees pleading had hit all of Nick’s kinks and though he had retained the foresight to tuck Harry into bed without pursuing anything, his self-control didn’t go as far as to deny him a furtive wank beneath the covers while Harry slept in the opposite room. Nick quickly brushes his teeth, strips, and climbs into bed.

His cock begins to fill up in anticipation and he slips his hand into his pants to scratch casually at the crease of his inner thigh as he tries to focus on one fantasy: Harry on his knees, eyes wide as Nick fucks slow and deep into his mouth; Harry tied face down on his bed and his pale ass turning hot and pink under Nick’s careful ministrations.

“Nick,” Harry’s voice is soft and questioning. “Could I sleep in here?”

Nick’s eyes shoot open, his hand stopping its quick movement but remains cupping his hardening cock. Harry stands in the doorway, shirtless now and looking particularly pitiful. Nick raises an eyebrow, “Kind of having a moment to myself here.”

Harry’s eyes drop to where Nick’s hand tents his sheets, “Don’t mind me.”

“You’re such a little shit,” Nick runs his spare hand through his quiff and gestures for Harry to come climb in the bed.

The old mattress dips as Harry climbs in and curls his body in a ball tucked against Nick’s side. He snuffles into Nick’s arm until Nick lifts it and wraps it around him. Harry falls asleep quickly, but Nick’s persistent erection and moral debate about whether it’s wrong to wank off quickly with Harry’s leg pressed up against his own keeps him up through to the wee hours of the morning – and if he spends a large part of that time watching Harry drool on the pillow then there is nobody around to tell.

The smell of bacon wakes Nick the next morning and he stumbles out of his empty bedroom to find Harry in his kitchen cooking, still mostly naked, and looking far too good for someone who is supposed to be hungover. Nick frowns, “Aren’t you supposed to be moaning and puking up your guts or something?”

“Have to learn to recover quickly when you’re a famous pop star,” Harry jokes. A drop of hot oil splashes up onto his bare chest and he lets out a little yelp and dances away from the stove. He looks up at Nick ruefully, “Good thing I wore pants.”

“So, hot oil on your cock is a hard limit then?”

“What?”

Nick shrugs and takes a seat at the rickety table in his kitchen. It was a holdover from his old flat with Henry and Gellz and has probably reached the end of its life but he couldn’t bear to give it up. “Only you seemed interested in that sort of thing last night.”

Harry lets out an audible gulp, “Is that something you do?”

“Have I ever splashed hot oil on someone’s dick? No, can’t say I have.”

Harry brought a plate filled with bacon and eggs over to the table. He squirms in his seat for a moment before mumbling: “Sorry for cock-blocking you last night, with that blond. Did you at least get a number?”

“What? No, course not. Then he might expect a call or summat.”

“You’re awful…If I tell you do you promise not to laugh?” At Nick’s nod Harry continues, his eyes dropping down to stare at his hands. “Ever since X-Factor girls have been like throwing themselves at me… which was great because like, well, you know, I’m young right? And it was nice for a bit, but um, recently, I um, haven’t been able to, you know, get it up. So I just thought… Henry was telling me about you and I just thought that maybe I’d like it a bit rough? And so I looked some stuff on the internet and, erm, it was kind of doing it for me, so yeah…”

“To be honest, I’m not that surprised. You come across like a dominant’s wet dream… but Harry, being submissive doesn’t make you gay,” Nick tells him bluntly.

“I know…I just…” Harry’s eyes are wet with embarrassment as he finally looks up from twiddling his thumbs. “I know you… and I know you’d be good and you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I’ll tell you what. My mate Caroline? She’s a bit of a dominatrix – nothing too crazy, just some bondage and power play. And she’s got fewer morals than me so she might be willing to show you a good time.”

“Caroline Flack? The host of I’m a Celebrity?” Harry asks, eyebrows furrowed and lips pinched. “She’s a dominatrix?”

“She dabbles. And she thinks you’re cute – said as much when you lot were on Alan Carr. I’ll pass along your mobile number.”

Harry shakes his head, his dirty curls flopping around his face: “Stop trying to pawn me off on someone else and eat your bacon.”

 

* * *

 

“Hypothetically, how bad would it be if I slept with a seventeen year old boy who isn’t actually gay?” Nick asks Pixie as they stroll down Oxford Street later that week.

“Isn’t that just any given Thursday?” Pixie asks, turning to admire a scarf in a shop window.

Nick mock gasps, “I’ll have you know that I generally draw the line at eighteen and interested in men.”

Pixie ushers him into the shop, “I like Harry. Please don’t sleep with him.”

“What?” Nick yelps and nearly runs into a mannequin. “Who said anything about Harry?”

“Henry was going on his usual rant about your sex life and Harry seemed pretty interested in what he was saying. And nobody is interested in your sex life beyond your parade of twinks and I’m not even sure they’re interested enough to listen to Henry rant.”

“Do you think Henry wants to sleep with me?” Nick asks absently, fiddling with a pair of gloves. “We woke up naked together once and Henry didn’t remember anything so I told him we had sex and I’m pretty sure he’s been curious ever since.”

“You’re an asshole,” Pixie laughs. “But seriously, Gels and I talked about it and if you sleep with Harry you’ll get awkward and stop returning his calls and then we’ll never get to see him and we like him.”

“I’m thinking about giving him to Caroline as an early Chiristmas present anyway,” Nick sniffs haughtily.

“She’d like that – could get her a lot of press going in to Xtra,” Pixie replies shrewdly as she selects a pair of gloves to bring up to the till. “And X-Factor ratings have been shit recently so she could use it.”

“Is romance dead? I could be giving her the love of her life, or at the very least some very good sex, but your mind jumps straight to how much PR she’d get?”

“The perils of growing up in show business. How do I ever cope? Oh, yes, by buying extravagantly expensive gloves and living in a gorgeous flat while the rest of you peasants live in squalor.”

“Speaking of living in squalor – if I don’t get a replacement for Henry soon I’m going to literally be living off of the frozen bacon I’ve got in my fridge.”

“Oh, I meant to say when we started talking about her. Caroline’s lease runs out in a few weeks and she’s not buying a new place until she’s completely settled her contract with X-Factor.”

“There we have it then. Two birds with one stones. Are you free for dinner Friday?”

 

* * *

 

Friday night, Nick swings by the studio to pick up Harry who clambers into the car dimples first and talking much faster than Nick has ever heard him speak before. Nick is temporarily distracted by Harry’s lips but tunes back into the conversation in time for Harry to give a wide smile and ask: “So, anyway, where are you taking me?”

“Some posh Italian that Pixie’s friend bartends at,” Nick shrugs pulling back into traffic.

The dimples emerge, “Are there going to be candles and those red checker table dressings? Can we split a plate of spaghetti and meatballs so I can nudge one over to you with my nose?”

“I’d make a snarky comment but you’d be Lady in this analogy and I think that’s enough of a comeback.”

Harry’s eyes furrows, “Why do you get to be Tramp?”

“What? You’re all twinky and posh and you think you’re Tramp? He’s a badman gangster. He’s been around the block.”

The punch delivered to Nick’s shoulder is hard and makes Nick yelp and ignore Harry in protest for the rest of the drive to the restaurant. Instead, he sings loudly and off key to every song played on the radio.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Nick ushers Harry inside with a flourish and a drawls: “After you my lady.”

Harry’s face darkens immediately when he sees Nick’s group of friends, including Caroline, clustered in one corner nearer the bar, “I thought I told you not to set me up.”

Nick nudges him in the back, “No, that’s not right. You’re supposed to say – ‘oh Nick, thank you so much for taking an interest in my poor pathetic love life and setting me up with an amazing girl who might spank me and tell me I’ve been naughty’”.

“That sounds nothing like me,” Harry retorts, punching Nick in his already abused arm once more so that it goes a little bit numb.

“No punches,” Nick shrieks (and is ashamed at the high pitched note his voice takes on at the end whenever he says this phrase to Harry).

Harry looks indecently smug so Nick eyes him speculatively and drops his voice down low and gravelly as he whispers into the younger boy’s ear. “Go flirt with Caroline.”

Harry inhales sharpley and immediately obeys: his walk stutters at first and then grows more confident as he slinks over to where Caroline and Aimee are chatting by the bar. A shiver runs up Nick’s spine, it’s thrilling, it feels like he’s basically loaning Harry out for sex and that gives him a sudden rush of ownership so powerful that he’s got to physically roll his shoulders to try and shake it off.

The thrill wears off quickly. Within a few months he’s gotten used to Harry hovering about him like a satellite whenever they’re in a room together. He likes that Harry is still under the illusion that Nick is cool and listens to his stories with a wholehearted devotion. He’s never surprised when someone falls in love with Harry because it’s easy to fall in love with someone who actually listens instead of waiting for their turn to speak.

Aimee corners him later, in the cordoned off section of some club in the West End they’ve ended up at, and reminds him: “You trot him around like a show pony. Don’t be surprised because someone else wanted a ride.”

“Is the theme of this evening bad metaphors?” Nick sniffs, swirling his glass of wine.

“The theme of the evening is you being a sad moping bastard,” Aimee laughs.

 

* * *

 

Harry’s is almost always there when Nick gets home in the evenings, dressed in one of Nick’s shirts and drinking Nick’s wine with Caroline on the sofa. Their faces are splashed across every tabloid and so they hole up with bad reality television and a steady supply of takeaway. Most of the time Harry lays with his head in Caroline’s lap as she pets his curls and looks up at Nick smugly.

On one particular evening, Nick slams his way into the flat to finds Harry alone on the couch drowning in his Dr. Dre shirt (it pools around his collarbone and drapes down to his thighs) and a wearing a ridiculously tiny pair of black pants. He’s shoveling Wagamama noodles into his mouth at a steady rate in his usual tongue first manner.

Nick blinks, “I’m pretty sure this is how most porn films start.”

“Come and get it, big boy,” Harry drawls, not taking his eyes off of the television.

Nick plops down on the couch next to him, “Where’s Caroline?”

Harry shrugs, causing the Dr. Dre shirt to slip down one shoulder revealing more smooth skin, “She wasn’t here when I got here.”

“So you just made yourself at home? Don’t you have a fancy giant popstar flat somewhere?”

“Louis is in Doncaster,” Harry replies like that explained everything. Which it kind of does, Nick knows Harry doesn’t like being alone.

“Then invite Caroline over and woo her with your wealth.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Busy trying to woo you with my wealth. There’s more takeaway for you in the kitchen.’

“Hoooo! Big spender!” Nick mocks, but goes into the kitchen and collects the food Harry brought him (the chili salmon avocado sushi because it doesn’t have to be reheated and Nick’s been obsessed with ever since he nicked one off of Harry’s plate last week) and then sinks down in the couch next to him.

They eat in silence for a bit, eyes on Nigella moaning over a trifle, until Harry sets his empty bowl down on the table and squirms around on the couch trying to find a comfortable position. He ends up on his back, head on a decorative pillow that arrived in the flat with Caroline, knees bent and toes tucked under Nick’s thigh.

Nick shoves another piece of sushi in his mouth in an attempt to not look like he’s gaping at the expanse of milk white thigh on view to him or the way his t-shirt has ridden up on Harry revealing a thin strip of soft stomach and bony hips that Nick wants to press with this thumbs until they bruise.

“Like what you see?” Harry smirks, dragging the shirt up higher with one hand and spreading his legs out across Nick’s lap. Harry’s always been confident in his body even when he was soft around the middle with baby fat and Nick finds it oddly refreshing. Nick’s body has always been an obstacle that he has to overcome.

“Thinking about going for one of those modern parties where people eat sushi off your naked body?” Nick asks lightly.

Harry’s eyes go so wide it’s comical and Nick can tell that he’s thinking about it, his breath growing heavy (and it’s becoming less of a joke) as he croaks out, “Maybe, yeah.”

“Yeah? What do you like about that? Being naked and unable to move in front of a room full of people? You can’t even breathe too hard because you might disturb the food.” Nick knows he’s taking this too far, but he can’t stop; the words falling out smooth and deep. “Or do you like the idea of being used? Like an object.”

Bright pink stains Harry’s cheeks as he frantically nods his head, “Yeah.’

Nick wraps his hand around one of Harry’s ankles, holds it firmly: “Which part?”

“All of it,” Harry’s gnawing at his plump bottom lip and his left hand is clenching tight around the hem of Nick’s shirt. “Is that, um, is that something you would want to do? Um, with me?”

“Isn’t that something you should be asking Caroline?”

Harry’s face shuts down and he pulls his ankle out of Nick’s grasp and curls in on himself, turning so his face is buried in the back cushion when he mumbles: “God, you’re dense. I’m not with Caroline.”

“What?” Nick squawks. Harry tilts his head away from the sofa enough to give Nick a dirty look over his shoulder and for once Nick is contrite and lies down behind Harry, curled protectively around him. He rubs his cold nose against the back of Harry’s neck and waits for him to continue.

“After all of us went out to dinner that night the tabloids spun it into like this big deal. And you know Miranda? My publicist? She’s Caroline’s as well and she thought that it would be a good idea to, you know, not discourage the rumors since our album was coming out and Caroline needed some attention for Xtra. ”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nick asks quietly.

“I dunno.”

“Harry, tell me,” Nick punctuates his command by sinking his teeth into Harry’s shoulder.

Harry is silent for a long moment and when he finally speaks it comes out soft and halting, “You told me to flirt with her, and, um, I wanted to, uh, be good?”

“You should be illegal, Harry Styles” Nick says, a bit awed. He scrapes his teeth over the mark his bite left on Harry’s shoulder and then pauses, “But what was wrong with Caroline? Have you seen her legs? I might even be willing to sleep with her.”

“I don’t think girls are really my thing anymore,” Harry says carefully and Nick feels a swelling in his heart as he remembers the first time he said the same words aloud, much later in his life then Harry and without the eyes of the world on him trying to label him when he doesn’t even know who he is.

Nick wants to express that, wants to tell Harry how brave he is, but instead all that comes out is: “Cool.”

“Cool?” Asks Harry doubtfully, shuffling around so he’s facing Nick (and kneeing him in the balls by accident in the process) so he can face Nick with the full force of his disappointed puppy dog look.

“Shut up. You know I’m bad at stuff like this.”

Harry huffs out a quiet laugh and continues, not meeting Nick’s eyes, “Anyway: That’s why I asked you if you’d… you know. So then I’d know about the stuff and about the guy thing.”

“Two months,” Nick blurts out suddenly, his voice verging on hysteria. “Think this all over and you and if you still want this when you turn eighteen in two months then we’ll give it a proper go, okay?”

Harry curls his hand against Nick’s chest and glances up under thick eyelashes, “The age of consent is sixteen.”

“Illegal,” Nick murmurs, pressing his lips to Harry’s forehead once, twice, and then tucking Harry’s head beneath his chin. “Go to sleep.”

Harry gets photographed leaving the flat the next morning and it’s no longer a safe haven.


	2. put some records on while I pour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from: Baby It's Cold Outside (she and him version)
> 
> This chapter wasn't meant to exist. My original plotline skipped straight to the end but I couldn't resist adding in Christmas after Nick and Harry saw each other on Christmas a second time. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my lovely beta.

**@Harry_Styles** : @grimmers I hear I’m coming to yours for Christmas… Is your dad going to call me Henry Stars again?  
  
 **@grimmers** : yes my dad is very excited “eh ‘arry bleedin’ Styles, get those parsnips peeled” #Styles/GrimshawXmas2011

 **@grimmers** : So good to be back home in Manchester with @msaimeephillips for Christmas! :D  
  
 **@grimmers** : About to watch my badman friend @Harry_Styles start an earthquake up in Manchester.

 

* * *

  
“I still say we should have worn One Direction t-shirts,” Nick tells Aimee over the sound of thousands of screaming girls. “One with Zayn Malik’s face on it. You could get a Niall. We would have had to buy them though – Harry’s only got ones with his face on them.”  
  
“That’s a twelve year old girl with an oral sex innuendo on her shirt,” Aimee says horrified, staring at a girl wearing a shirt emblazoned with the words I’ll eat your carrot Louis in line for the toilet. “What kind of place is this?”  
  
“You should have seen the Teen Awards. There was a fourteen year old who kept flashing her ta-tas.” Nick looks thoughtful, “You should try it – maybe Niall will take you home if he spots your flaming orange hair and post-puberty tits in the audience. He’s Irish, they’re used to gingers.’  
  
“I’m actually concerned you’re going to try and flash your tits,” Aimee replies dryly. “How long has it been since you’ve seen Harry? You might lose it.”  
  
“It’s weird though, isn’t it?” Nick says. “He’s like an actual popstar about to be on stage and sing for a bunch of people that actually paid to be here.”  
  
“Do you feel at home among them?”  
  
“I didn’t pay,” Nick shrieks, affronted.  
  
“No but they all want to sleep with Harry Styles as well.”  
  
“I don’t need to be at a One Direction concert to be surrounded by people who want to sleep with Harry. I just need to go to the West End on weekend.”  
The large buff security guard who is leading them to their box lets out a snort of laughter and Nick nods at him appreciatively. The guard gestures them towards a door and they enter a room full of people who all look vaguely like one One Direction member or another.  
  
“Nick, babe, good to see you again,” Anne stands and greets him immediately with a hug. “How are you?”  
  
“I’m good, though a little concerned about the ringing in my ears,” Nick pulls Aimee forward. “This is my friend Aimee off of America. She’s our resident Christmas Jew and will snort in derision at all of our silly traditions.”  
  
“Pleasure,” Anne gives her a warm hug as well. She turns back to Nick, “And you’re sure your mum doesn’t mind having us over for Christmas Eve?”  
  
“She’s been banging on about it for the past two weeks,” Nick assures her. “And that’s not even mentioning how excited my Dad is. I think he wishes Harry was his son instead of me. They’ve got enough food to feed to armies and they’ll both be massively disappointed if you don’t come.”  
  
“Okay, if you’re certain. I want them to be able to spend part of their Christmas with their father but with Harry’s schedule we’d be constantly driving back and forth between Manchester and Holmes Chapel, but I wouldn’t want to be an imposition on your family.”  
  
“You could never be. Aimee, on the other hand is being a huge imposition and doesn’t seem to care at all. I tried to tell her that she wasn’t welcome but she doesn’t seem to get the hint.”  
  
The lights begin to dim and the shrieks increase tenfold making it impossible for them to speak any further. Anne gestures for the pair of them to follow her to her seat next to Gemma. Nick and Aimee had missed the opening acts so it’s One Direction that runs out on stage.  
  
The concert is everything that Nick pretends to hate and he loves every minute of it. He loves the cheesy intro screens and the stupid twitter questions. He loves the blatant homoeroticism of the boys pushing and prodding at each other like they’re on a schoolyard. He loves the nervous energy that leaches from Harry’s skin (loves knowing what that skin feels like while he’s surrounded by thousands of people who wish they knew) and the way he spastically jumps around the stage trying to put on .  
  
During What Makes You Beautiful the whole group is herded out of the box by security, down hidden corridors, and into the staging area. I Would  is just starting up when they reach the dressing rooms and Nick can feel a slight sense of anxiety creeping up on him as he waits on a couch with Aimee and Gemma, his left leg tapping out an unidentifiable rhythm on the floor.  
  
“I’m definitely considering moving. So much of my life is here already,” Aimee is telling Gemma when her hand suddenly shoots out and grabs Nick’s knee, stilling it. “Would you knock that off? What’s wrong with you?”  
  
“I’ve got to go to the toilet,” Nick blurts out and rushes out of the room. He slams the door open and the elderly man at one of the sinks looks over to him in alarm. Nick tries to smile reassuringly at the man but when he catches sight of himself in the mirror it looks more like a grimace and he gives up the attempt immediately. He prods the wrinkles by his eyes and wonders if they’re as visible as the man’s next to him. He hopes not.  
  
He tries another smile, finds a stray hair growing on the right side of his neck and spends the next five minutes trying to get a grip on it with his recently cut nails (the man at the sink looks like he wants to say something but dries his hands and leaves without a word). He lets out a huge sigh of relief when he manages to pluck the hair at last. He switches on the faucet and splashes some water on his face in attempt to calm down.  
  
“Are you going to say hello?”  
  
Nick hadn’t heard the door open but that’s Harry’s voice and they’ve only been apart two weeks but this isn’t how he wanted to say hello – in a toilet with suspiciously damp floors and water dripping down his face but Harry slams into him seconds later and they’re hugging tightly and Harry smells horrible but it’s good. Nick is smiling and when he seeks out his reflection it looks soppy and stupid but it’s not a grimace, “Good job out there pop star. Even Aimee threw her pants onstage. She wants to know if Niall’s got ‘em.”  
  
“I don’t think he picked up any but I’ve got a gold thong in my pocket. I thought was yours,” Harry replies as he pulls out of the hug. “And I’ve got a bra I think is your size.”  
  
“I doubt it. Your fans are all in training bras and I’d need at least a B cup.”  
  
Harry’s laugh is huskier than usual, sore from singing all night (and at the matinee earlier that day), and ends in a giant yawn. “Sorry, I’m exhausted. You ready to head out? I’ve just got to remind Paul that I’m leaving with you and I’m good to go.”  
  
“You coming back to mine?” Nick asks, surprised. He’d assumed Harry would continue to stay at whatever swanky hotel One Directions management had set them up in.  
  
“Course,” Harry replies, but even as he says it his eyebrows start to furrow in concern. “Isn’t that what you – I, um, thought that was what was happening.”  
  
“Well you’re invited of course,” Nick backtracks in an effort to prevent Harry from continuing to look like someone, Nick, just kicked a puppy right in front of him. “I just didn’t know if you’d prefer a giant pop star hotel room with your mum and sister instead of kipping with me in my childhood bed. Fair warning I think there are at least three broken springs.”  
  
“I spent most of yesterday with them,” Harry shrugs. “I want to see you. You’re leaving soon and then I’m leaving… and yeah, wanted to see you.”  
  
“That’s settled then. We’re sneaking in the house though because if anyone spots you we’ll never get to bed.”  


* * *

  
  
“Um… Nick. Nick wake up,” Harry prods him in the arm several times until Nick finally blinks awake (and pouts at him through half lidded eyes) only an hour after he’d finally dozed off. “Could I borrow a jumper? And some flannels? And maybe some socks.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’m really cold,” Harry demonstrates by pressing his frozen hand under the hem of Nick’s shirt and against his stomach. Nick rolls away with an undignified yelp.  
  
“That’s why I offered you a jumper three hours ago,” Nick grumbles, but obligingly climbs from the bed to sift through his childhood wardrobe for something that might fit Harry. He pulls out a knitted knobby woolen white jumper, a hideous, but soft, pair of bottoms emblazoned with mistletoe, and two socks that may or may not match. He tosses it all at Harry but it only makes it halfway before falling at the foot of the bed.  
  
Nick burrows himself under the covers while Harry gets up to slip into the clothes. A few minutes later the blankets lift and Harry is burrowing himself into Nick’s chest and tucking himself under one of Nick’s arms. Harry lets out a happy sigh, “Much better.”  
  
“Why didn’t you just take a jumper earlier?”  
  
“I was trying to be sexy,” Harry admits. “But then you started snoring and ruined the vibe.”  
  
“I think you turning blue ruined the vibe.”  
  
“You’d still like me if I was blue.”

 

* * *

 

Nick wakes to an empty bed and pads downstairs to find Harry, still wearing Nick’s clothes, in the kitchen and drinking a cup of tea with Nick’s mother, Eileen. Nick stands in the doorway and listens to them as they chat quietly about how long Harry will be gone on tour and when he’ll be able to make it back to London.  
  
“Eavesdropping, Nick?” Aimee laughs from somewhere behind him.  
  
At the sound of Aimee’s voice both Harry and Eileen look up and spot Nick in the doorway. A slow sleepy smile stretches across Harry’s face while Eileen clucks unhappily at Nick, “Why didn’t you tell me Harry was staying over tonight? I’ve not even cleaned the stove yet.”  
  
“Why would you need to clean the stove? You’re just going to cook and get it dirty again,” Nick protests, stealing Harry’s cup and taking a long sip. He grimaces at the taste, “I always forget how much sugar you take. Is there any coffee?”  
  
“Aimee put a pot on, but make sure you save some for your father.”  
  
Nick fetches himself a cup and takes a seat next to Harry. He feels vaguely tempted to put his arm around Harry’s shoulders but instead settles his hand on Harry’s thigh under the table and asks him quietly, “When are you going to your Dad’s?”  
  
“Um, I think Gemma’s coming to get me at eleven? And then we’ll all be back here round half past five.”  
  
“You gonna be alright going?”  
  
“Yeah, I think so. Things are better now: A lot better. Plus I got him tickets to the Man U game on Boxing Day so I figure I’ll just pull them out if things get awkward. ”  
  
“Historically, bribery has always worked in my family.” Nick can tell Harry’s nervous so he digs the tips of his fingers into the thick muscle of Harry’s inner thigh hard enough to leave small bruises as he cranes his neck to look out the kitchen window. “Did we get any more snow last night?”  
  
“Yeah, you wanna check it out?”  
  
“Yeah, go get our coats from upstairs and a scarf.” Nick orders casually, releasing his grip on Harry’s thigh. “And get your beanie: The gray one.”  
  
Nick follows Harry out of the kitchen but while Harry runs upstairs, Nick gets cornered in the hallway by Aimee. She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and asks, “What are you doing with Harry?”  
  
“Fuck if I know,” Nick laughs. “He definitely needs it. I think Louis might have been kind of dominating him by accident? So that’s kind of keeping him together but who knows how long that will last.”  
  
“Nick!” Harry’s voice echoes from the stairwell. He appears from around the corner waving a red scarf: “Is this the one you meant.”  
  
“It’ll do,” Nick gives Aimee a pointed look before turning and wrapping the scarf around Harry’s neck. He thumbs the soft skin beneath Harry’s left ear and says, “C’mon pop star.”  
  
There’s a harsh chill in the air when they amble outside but it’s good to get outside as Nick’s parents’ house is slowly being filled with relatives and Nick likes being the center of attention in a big group but he also likes this, walking down the street with his arm brushing against Harry’s (being the center of Harry’s attention).  
  
A snowball hits Nick in the shoulder with a loud thump but when Nick turns around he finds Harry staring at his own reddening hands as if confused that the snow had made them cold. Nick rolls his eyes and moves forward. He lifts both of the Harry’s wrists in one hand so he can blow out warm air onto his cupped palms. Harry’s smirking now and Nick snorts, “One month – Harry Styles. Don’t you have any self control?”  
  
“Nick, I’ve been chatting you up since I slapped your ass at the Teen Awards in front of thousands of teen girls. You can’t blame me for being a little impatient.”  
  
“What?” Nick yelps. “No you haven’t been!”  
  
Harry shrugs and heads back inside:  “Sorry you’re an idiot.”  
  
“You were supposed to be straight!”  


* * *

  
  
Christmas Eve dinner is loud. The Grimshaw residence is large but it’s crammed full of people and food. Nick’s holding court in the corner by the fireplace with his niece and Aimee when a tipsy Harry stumbles over and folds his long limbs up so he’s sitting cross legged on the floor at Nick’s feet.  
  
“You alright Harold?”  
  
“Mmhmm. Warm.” Harry replies, resting his head against Nick’s thigh. “ My mum’s discussing wedding plans with yours in the kitchen.”  
  
“Did she and Robin get engaged?”  
  
“No,” Harry tilts his head up and rolls his eyes at Nick. “They’re planning our wedding.”  
  
“What?”  Nick feels like he’s screeched the word ‘what’ far too many times over this Christmas holiday.  
  
Liv laughs, “When did you get so oblivious?”  
  
“Around the time he met this one, I’m guessing” Aimee teases.  
  
“Isn’t she lovely,” Liv croons. “Isn’t she wonderful.”  
  
“That’s enough out of you,” Nick shoos her off. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”  
  
Liv sticks two fingers out at Nick and drags Aimee off to the kitchen for more drinks. Nick takes their absence as a chance to wrap his hand around the back of Harry’s neck, holding it firmly and pressing his thumb against the divot of Harry’s jaw right under his ear. Harry sighs happily and rubs his cheek against Nick’s knee and mumbles “I got you a present.”  
  
“Is it a new car? Or a boat? I’ve always wanted a boat.”  
  
“It’s my dick in a box.”  
  
Nick’s hand tightens on Harry’s neck, his finger digging under the joint and causing Harry to let out a whimper.  Nick smirks at the noise, “Behave.”  
  
Harry clambers to his feet and drags Nick from his chair, “Come upstairs and see.”  
  
The two of them tromp up the stairs, Nick pointedly avoiding Aimee’s warning look. Once they’re in Nick’s bedroom Harry shuffles through his duffle and pulls out a perfectly wrapped package adorned with a slightly squashed bow. Harry’s face looks so young and eager as he thrusts the box towards Nick and says, “I wrapped it myself.”  
  
Nick tears through the wrappings and pulls out a dark leather dog collar. He stares at it in confusion and asks, “You got me a dog?”  
  
Harry isn’t meeting his eyes and his cheeks are flushed hot pink as he says, “Check the tag.”  
  
Nick finds the silver bone shaped tag and flips it over. It’s engraved with the name ‘Harry’ and underneath it is Nick’s phone number. Nick’s mouth drops open and for once in his life he can’t think of a single thing to say: his arousal hits him like a truck followed shortly by disbelief and a bizarre sense of wonder tinged with terror. He’s got to say something though – he can feel Harry’s embarrassment growing like a chill in the room – so he panics and blurts out, “You can’t wear this.”  
  
“It fits,” Harry insists. “I tried it on.”  
  
“No, that’s not…” Nick starts to explain, his brain briefly short circuiting at the image of Harry in a brightly lit pet shop trying to wrap the collar around his neck to see if it fits. Harry’s face immediately falls and Nick retracts, “No, Harry. I just meant this is meant for a dog. We can get you a collar if that’s what you want, of course we can, but one like this isn’t safe. You need one with a lining to protect your throat and either a proper buckle or a snap closure.”  
  
“Oh,” Harry’s head darts up, relieved. “But that one’s fine for dogs.”  
  
“You’re a popstar who needs his voice in good condition, not a dog, Harry Styles.” Nick laughs. “But if you’d like I’ll treat you like one. We can get you a leash and everything. I’ll put some newspaper down in the corners.”  
  
“You’re making fun of me,” Harry pouts.  
  
“I’m not really. You’re just jumping a couple chapters ahead in the playbook and you don’t even know if you like the introduction.”  
  
“But I read a book,” Harry scrambles back to his bag and pulls out a plain black volume entitled S&M&U. “And you can use it as like a signal or summat when you want to play.”  
  
“Did it also tell you that a collar is tantamount to an engagement in some communities?” Nick raises an eyebrow at Harry’s shocked face. “At its heart this is supposed to be fun – so if you want to wear it just for play because you think it’s sexy and it’ll make you feel good then that we can do. I’m not really into the whole old school leather community with all of their ceremonies and shit so it doesn’t have the same symbolism for me, but if you keep going with this then you need to know what presenting someone with a collar means to some people– and you’re supposed to receive one not give one out, traditionally.”  
  
“I don’t think this was a very helpful book,” Harry drops it onto the bed with a sigh.  
  
“Don’t worry about it pop star – you’ve still got over a month to google. And me, you can ask me whatever you want. Wasn’t that kind of the point of doing this with a friend?”  
  
“Do you promise not to laugh?”  
  
“I swear.” Nick pauses for a moment, “Unless it’s really funny. You have to promise not to be funny or I’m not making any promises.”  
  
Harry flops on the bed and spreads his limbs out like a starfish, “What did you get me?”  
  
“Um… I didn’t know we were doing something like this.” Nick goes over to his desk and unplugs a thumb drive from his laptop which he tosses over onto Harry’s chest. “So, it’s not much, but you’ll be on the road a lot so should come in handy.”  
  
“A USB drive?” Harry asks, picking it up and examining it.  
  
“Yeah, I loaded it with some music I think you might like,” Nick rubs the back of his neck nervously.  
  
Harry sits up, positively beaming, “I love it.”  
  
“You could have every song on it,” Nick reminds him.  
  
A loud knock sounds on the door and a voice calls out, “Harry dear, your family is heading out.”  
  
Harry gets to his feet like a baby deer still unsure of how to stand properly, still a bit tipsy from earlier. He presses a lingering kiss to the corner of Nick’s mouth and heads out the door with a smile and a wave.  Nick barely manages to refrain from touching his mouth like the heroine of a romance novel and instead calls out, “Happy Christmas, Harry.”  


* * *

  
  
Post-Christmas time moves quickly: Caroline buys a swanky flat in west London and moves out, One Direction continues their UK tour, Nick goes on holiday with friends to Puerto Rico, Caroline goes on a holiday of her own, and rumors of a Haroline break up begin to spread across the tabloids.  
  
Nick’s flat is a safe haven again and Harry spends most of his week-long break after their UK tour lazing around Nick’s flat in various states of undress and catching up on all the hours of reality television Nick saved for him on his DVR.  
  
“When do you get back from America?” Nick asks one evening, Harry’s legs propped up in his lap and a repeat of Take Me Out on the television.  
  
“On my birthday. Probably kind of late – should I just come over here?”  
  
“No! It’s your first time you can legally drink, Harold. We have to go out,” Nick insists.  
  
Harry wiggles in his seat, “But I thought we were going to…”  
  
“We will,” Nick promises. “But a few drinks in you might help with the pain, especially if it turns out you don’t like it. We’ll go out to Groucho for a few hours and then we can duck out early. Alright? And then if you change your mind you’ve still got birthday plans.”  
  
“Why do you keep thinking I’m going to change my mind?” Harry asks with a groan. “It’s been months.”  
  
“Maybe you’ll wander into a bookshop and meet the pretty girl who works there and she’ll spill something on you and offer for you to come back to her flat to change and you’ll fall in love.”  
  
“Isn’t that the plot of Notting Hill?”  
  
“Exactly! I can’t compete with Notting Hill! I’m not Hugh Grant! And I’d get so bored in a bookshop.”  
  
“You can be Julia Roberts. Better yet – you can be Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman and I can take you to Saville Row and dress you up and you can make a tailor cry.”  
  
“Deal,” Nick agrees. They watch the television in silence for a moment before curiosity gets the better of Nick and he asks, “So do I invite Caroline to your party or no?”  
  
“Um… probably best if you don’t. X Factor is over so Caroline doesn’t need the publicity and she’s kind of fed up with all the hate – neither of us thought it would be like this when we started. Plus, my, um, team doesn’t think a relationship with her will look good in the states so they’re okay with it.”  
  
“Do you have to make a statement?” Nick asks, toying with a loose thread on the hem of Harry’s jeans.  
  
Harry shakes his curls, “They don’t want me to – they want the story to last a bit longer, but um. I kind of want to say something, because it’s kind of my fault. Someone sent her a picture of a knife, Nick. And if I don’t say anything then it might keep going.”  
  
Nick takes one of Harry’s feet his hands and massages the curve of it while he thinks. When he finally does reply, he speaks slower than he usually does and actually considers his words, “There are a lot of secrets you’re going to have to keep for the sake of your career. And a lot of lies you’re going to have to tell. But sometimes you’ve got to make compromises so you don’t lose yourself completely.”

* * *

 

 **@Harry_Styles** : Please know I didn’t ‘dump’ caroline. This was a mutual decision. She is one of the kindest, sweetest people I know. Please respect that. **  
**


	3. I need something I can dance to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from: "DJ" - Alphabet (Medeon remix)

Nick can feel his breath catch in his throat when he sees Harry ambling directly toward him through the restaurant; he’s been gone a month but it feels like it’s been both a year and a day since he last saw Harry (and in that moment of waxing lyrical inside his head realizes he’s so far gone on this boy it might as well be written on his forehead in large blinking letters). Harry doesn’t stop his forward momentum until he’s slamming into Nick’s chest, pitching them both backwards a couple of steps. Nick pulls Harry away from him so he can get a good look at him and his eyes crinkle when he notices: “You’ve still got your coat on, popstar.”  
  
“Wanted to see you,” Harry grins sheepishly. “There was a… uh? Footman? At the door was trying to take it from me but I ignored him. It’ll probably be in the papers tomorrow: Styles Snubs Doorman.  All to say hello to your ugly mug.”  
  
“Can’t have that, best go hand it over,” Nick lets his gaze slowly trail up Harry’s legs, clad in the tightest pair of jeans he’s ever seen, and then flicks his eyes up to meet Harry’s when he adds, “Be a good boy.”  
  
Harry immediately trots off and Nick uses his absence to swallow down the two fingers of vodka he had ordered while he was waiting in the restaurant bar. When Harry returns he is minus the coat and plus his mum and sister. Nick greets them both with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  Having a pop star around is good for something because Harry’s arrival is immediately followed by a young pretty hostess popping out of nowhere and leading them to a secluded table in the back.  
  
“Your waitress will be here shortly, but if you need anything, and I mean anything, then I’ll be at the front,” the girl flips her hair and Nick is genuinely worried for a moment that she is actually about to smile at the ground, but her wide, teeth-baring grin is directed straight at Harry and she slides her hand against Harry’s arm before flouncing off.  
  
“Wow, you’ve got to be mad confident to chat up someone in front of their mum,” Nick laughs, pulling out a chair for Anne before taking his own seat across from her and next to Harry.  
  
“Oh that’s nothing,” Anne laughs. “You don’t know what I’ve been offered to set him up on a date. If only we still used the betrothal system – I could trade him in for a small island.”  
  
“I want an island. C’mon Harry, take one for the team. We can all retire and live off your millions.”  
  
Harry punches Nick in the arm, “It’s my birthday. You’re supposed to be nice to me.”  
  
“Oh, is it your birthday? I completely forgot. Probably should have gotten you a present or summat.”  
  
Gemma looks up from where she had been distracted by the wine list and rolls her eyes when she sees Harry pouting spectacularly, “Get a grip Harry. Honestly. Now, what are you going to have for your very first alcoholic beverage ever?”  
  
“Bottle of Cristal?” Harry shrugs. He drops his hand down to Nick’s knee under the table. “Celebrate with champagne, yeah? I don’t really care for it much though.”  
  
“Wine for dinner,” Anne decides. “Champagne doesn’t hold up well against a main course protein anyway.”  
  
Throughout dinner Nick finds himself constantly sneaking glances at Harry and half heartedly wishing that he was on the other side of the table so it wouldn’t be as obvious and Anne would stop shooting Nick knowing glances in return, but if he was on the other side of the table he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to gain enough nerve to slide his own hand on top of Harry’s and to turn it with a tilt of his palm in order to lace their fingers together.  
  
Harry’s looks down at their joined hands and his mouth pinches tight like he’s trying not to smile and he taps the toe of his shoe against Nick’s ankle in reply. Anne coughs pointedly and the pair jerks their heads up to look at her. She smirks, dimpling just like her son, and asks, “How are things at Radio One, Nick?”  
  
“Rajar ratings just came in. We’re hemorrhaging listeners to Radio Two every day. Moyles is past his prime and everyone knows it but he’s on contract for a billion more years.”  
  
“You could take over for him,” Harry says through a mouthful of food. “You’re good: slightly younger.”  
  
“Oh, god no.” Nick protests immediately. “But if he goes they might move me down to daytime. My ratings were good for my slot. I’d have to play even more awful top 40 records though. Like yours.”  
  
“You love playing my records,” Harry replies primly. “You would play our whole album on repeat if you could but then you’d be out of a job.”  
  
“Are you on tonight?” Gemma inserts into their banter.  
  
“Yup, got to head back to the station after dinner: are you coming out with us after?”  
  
“No, we’re headed back tonight. I’ve got class in the morning and Mum has work. We only came in for the day to see Haz head here on his birthday.”  
  
“You should stay,” Harry told her. “Take the train up on Sunday.”  
  
“Won’t get anything done if I do and I’ve got four hundred pages to read by Monday, but I’ll come down my next break I promise.”  
  
Harry nods, understanding, but shuffles his food around on his plate with a despondent air. Nick shifts in his seat so he can catch the eye of their waiter and gesture frantically with his eyebrows. The waiter somehow manages to understand his signals and has the decadent chocolate cake Nick had requested brought out immediately. Harry’s eyes light up and Nick leads a loud off-key rendition of Happy Birthday.  
While Harry is distracted taking a photo with the cake, Nick leans over to Gemma and confides, “I wish you were coming. He’s going to be a right menace, isn’t he?”

 

* * *

  
  
“He kept throwing things at me and moving the microphone,” Nick immediately starts complaining to Pixie when they arrive at Shoreditch house after the show.  Harry’s off visiting the toilet so Nick’s free to gripe at Pixie. “He’s going to get me fired.”  
  
“You missed him,” Pixie teases. “You missed him so much.”  
  
“Shut up,” Nick shoves her toward the bar. He flags down the bartender and orders himself a double vodka on the rocks along with a jack and coke with honey for Harry and a Manhattan for Pixie.  
  
“Even his drink is adorable,” Pixie sighs as she watches the bartender flit around behind the bar. “How does he not make you feel old? He makes me feel old.”  
  
“Of course he makes me feel old,” Nick scoffs, taking his drink from the bartender and downing it in one go. “A woman thought I was his father! His father! And I’ve done three facials since yesterday and still can’t get rid of the bags under my eyes. I could carry a bowling ball in these bags.”  
  
“You’re alright. You’ve just got droopy eyes. Like a basset hound.”  
  
“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” Nick asks, dryly. He stares at Harry’s drink for a moment and then gulps that down as well.    
  
”You’ve got an eighteen year old popstar lusting after you – that’s all the compliment you need.”  
  
That eighteen year old pop star returns, smiling so wide he’s got dimples in both cheeks, “So what are we up to? I’m starving – you said there was food.”  
  
Nick gestures to his left vaguely. “There’s menus and stuff in the Biscuit Pin – they serve food all night - only stayed out here to wait for you so we should probably head in there.”  
  
They navigate through the club and down the lift to the fourth floor but when they get to their private room, Nick gestures for Pixie to enter and instead corners Harry up against the wall. He crowds him in so their chests are pressed together and when Harry tilts his head up to look at Nick, he knocks it into the wall.  
  
“Here’s your chance to back out, popstar,” Nick tells him quietly, their lips barely an inch apart. “No questions asked. Completely free pass to say no.”  
  
“Not a chance,” Harry’s lips brush faintly against Nick’s as he answers, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip and catching on the corner of Nick’s mouth.  
  
Nick ducks down and captures Harry’s full mouth with his own and it’s soft and hot for a moment, but a few seconds is more than they can risk even in a private club.  Nick drops his head down into the crook of Harry’s neck and breathse in the damp smell of fresh clean sweat and spice. He noses under the loose collar of Harry’s shirt and sinks his teeth into the firm muscle above his collarbone.  
  
Harry lets out a whimper and his hips jerk forward, his sharp pelvic bone ramming into Nick’s thigh. Nick licks a broad stripe across the imprints his teeth have left behind and separates from Harry with a toothy grin, “C’mon in, popstar.”  
  
An hour later Nick finds himself squashed on a couch in the corner by two teenagers, Harry shoveling steak and chips into his mouth from his place under Nick’s left arm.  The sound of crashing pins echoes in the background as Harry asks through a half full mouth, “So, what did I miss the past month?”  
  
Nick’s mind goes blank– he’d kept Harry up with some of the daily minutia but overall nothing had changed. Harry was off traveling the world and Nick was in the exact same place he’d been in for years, albeit a place he loved, but faced with someone who is out becoming world famous it he’s not sure it stacks up in terms of news. Nick forces a smile and a nonchalant tone as he replies: “Pixie got Busta a new coat and that’s it.”  
  
“You should get a dog,” Harry suggests, making grabby hands at his drink on the table until Nick sighs and hands it to him. “You’d look good with a dog.”  
  
“Do dogs make people look more attractive? Would it also make me look younger or do I need a cat for that?”  
  
“I don’t think you’d know what to do with a pussy,” Harry looks delighted at his own joke even though it’s awful.  
  
Nick rolls his eyes, “Are you still allowed to make awful puns when you’re eighteen?”  
  
“I’m allowed to do a lot of things now that I’m eighteen,” Harry tilts his chin up towards Nick with a wide smile that Nick desperately wants to kiss off his face.  
  
“Only if I let you.”  
  
Pixie gags, “Oh my god. You two are going to become domestic, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nick huffs, getting to his feet. “We’re going to bowl, come along Harold.”  
  
“Can we act out that scene from the second Grease film? You kind of look like that guy.” Harry shimmy’s his hips as he stands and sings, “We’re gonna sco-o-ore tonight!”    
  
“We’ll get you some of those shiny gold leggings to wear,” Nick suggests. “Bet your ass would look great. And everybody hates that movie.”  
  
“Heeeyyy,” Harry protests. “I liked it.”  
  
“Oh god. Go get some shoes. And some balls.”  Nick shoos Harry off and turns to Pixie with a look of distress.  
  
“I liked it too,” Pixie shrugs. “Peaches and me used to sing Cool Rider any time we got near a ladder.”  
  
Nick groans, “I bet he picks out a hot pink ball because he’s trying to break the bonds of heteronormativity.”

 

* * *

  
Harry’s ass looks phenomenal when he’s bent over throwing his fluorescent purple bowling ball down the lane, but his tailbone feels not as nice when it’s slamming down on Nick’s lap later in the evening.  He’s drunk – hopefully not too drunk; Nick has plans for the rest of the evening that doesn’t involve Harry passing out in a drunken stupor the moment they get in the door.  
  
“Can we go have sex now?” Harry cuts straight to the chase, his breath hot and damp with alcohol as he whispers in Nick’s ear. “I’ve socialized, ate cake, and drank legally. Now I want birthday sex.”  
  
Nodding frantically, Nick pushes Harry off his lap so they can make their farewells. A town car is waiting for them outside and Harry slumps in one corner of the car, his eyes wide and fixed on Nick as his curls flop against his bright pink cheeks. Nick looks out the car window, overwhelmed. He hadn’t let himself plan this out ahead of time (at least not beyond putting away the clothes he had strewn about his floor) because he didn’t want to get his hopes up in case Harry backed out so he’s got a thousand fantasies surfacing and begging for attention.  
  
Harry keeps his distance when they pull up at Nick’s flat, his hands clasped tightly together in front of him and his legs snapped shut and stick straight while Nick fumbles through his keys. The lock clicks and they’re blessedly inside – Nick’s already in the kitchen by the time he realizes Harry is still hovering in the entryway. Wine, Nick decides, pulling out a bottle and expertly uncorking it. He carries two glasses out to Harry and bumps him in the back with his chest until Harry shuffles over to the couch.  
  
There’s a sloppily wrapped present on the coffee table and a smile grows on Harry’s face when he sees it, both dimples emerging in full force, his voice full of glee, “You did get me a present!”  
  
“No, that’s for my other friend who has a birthday today. He’s a great guy: you’d like him. Very laddy.”  
  
The paper is already ripped off by the time Nick finishes his statement. Nick knows what’s inside so he keeps his eyes fixed on Harry as he lifts the lid of the box.  Harry’s mouth drops open into an obscene O shape as he lifts out the brown leather collar nestled inside the package. It’s got a thick silver buckle in the back, it’s lined with a soft sheepskin, and the tag Harry had given Nick at Christmas is dangling from the loop on the front.  
  
“Do you,” Nick starts but it comes out like a croak and he’s got to restart. “Do you want me to help you put it on?”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry nods immediately. He clambers into Nicks lap so that he’s facing Nick with his long legs folded on each side of Nick’s legs. Nick gently pries Harry’s fingers off the collar and loops it around Harry’s long pale neck. He struggles doing up the buckle and bumps his knuckles against Harry’s Adam’s apple, sending goose flesh out across his neck.  
  
“Since it’s your birthday, how do you want to do this?” Nick asks, moving the collar around so the buckle is in the back and the tag is dangling between the divots of Harry’s collarbone.  Nick presses the cool metal against Harry’s warm skin to see him shiver one more time.  
  
“Whatever you want,” Harry responds immediately.  
  
Nick shakes his head and cups Harry’s chin in one hand and lifts so their eyes meet, “Harry– you’ve got to pick something. I can do the rest but I need you to make the first decision. Can you do that for me?”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry lets out in a shaky breath, his eyes squeezed shut. When he blinks his eyes open they’re wide like an japanese cartoon character and a pink flush has spread its way from his cheeks down his chest. “Maybe try the, uh, the spanking. You said before that’s a good place to start.”  
  
“That’s a very good choice, Harry,” Nick tells him gently. He thought it would take him awhile to slip into this headspace since he’s used to taking the piss out of Harry, but it’s remarkably easy to praise him. “Why don’t you go to my bedroom and get undressed. I’ll clear up in here.”  
  
Nick takes his time throwing out the wrapping paper and corking the wine bottle. He dumps the two mostly full glasses into the sink and rinses them quickly so the wine doesn’t sit. Then he toes off his shoes and removes his socks to avoid awkwardness later.  
  
When he enters the bedroom he sees Harry standing naked next to the bed, his eyes on the open pocket knife on the bedside table. His legs and torso are both impossibly long with his tiny pert ass separating the two. Nick’s had his share of young attractive models parading through his bedroom, but Harry’s got a type of rawness to the cut of his hips and the mop of curls on his head and it leaves Nick suddenly shockingly hard in his pants.  
  
“Shower not a grower, eh?” Nick speaks up from the doorway. He’s seen it before – it was a common prank for the radio crew to set the grainy nude from the X Factor toilet as the background on his computer – but it looks nicer in HD, curving slightly to the left. He’s cut, which isn’t foreign territory for Nick but still enough of a novelty for it to be sexy that everything is already on display  
  
“What’s with the knife?” Harry asks, his mouth pinched in concentration.  
  
“To cut off the collar in case something goes horribly wrong and we can’t get it off you,” Nick explains. “Safety first.”  
  
Harry turns fully around to face Nick, more comfortable in his own skin then Nick’s ever been and definitely wasn’t when he was eighteen, “It’s weird having you be concerned about things like safety. A few weeks ago you tried to get me to stick my finger in a light socket.”  
  
“I just wanted to see if your hair would stand up on end.” Nick stays in the doorway, “But that would have been you making a stupid decision. But with this, I’m the light socket. I’m the one causing you pain and I need to know that I can stop that if you aren’t enjoying it anymore.”  
  
“I really want to kiss you right now,” Harry blurts out.  
  
Nick takes three long strides across the room and captures Harry’s plump red lips in a passionate kiss. They’re both tipsy still and the kiss is sloppy: all tongues and teeth. Nick scratches his fingernails lightly across Harry’s lower back and then lower to dig his nails into the soft flesh of his ass. He uses the leverage to tug Harry’s naked body against his own fully clothed body. Harry lets out a gasp into Nick’s mouth and ruts up against Nick’s thigh, his hands clutching desperately at Nick’s shoulders, unused to being the smaller one in a kiss.  
  
Nick loops his finger in the collar and tugs Harry away from him, “You ready?”  
  
“Yeah, fuck.” Harry’s panting, his curls damp against his forehead and his eyes wild. “Yeah.”  
  
Nick sits down on the edge of the bed and crooks a finger at Harry. Harry lays himself gingerly across Nick’s lap, balancing most of his weight on the balls of his feet.  His muscles are tense like he’s about to make a run for it so in one swift motion, Nick shoves Harry’s head down on one side and slides his left knee under Harry’s hip so it knocks his weight onto Nick’s lap.  
  
He kneads Harry’s ass, his large hand nearly covering a whole cheek. He pulls them apart and rubs one finger against the soft fuzz of the crack between until Harry relaxes into a moaning heap, his cock hanging heavily down into open air.  
  
“Has anyone ever touched you here?” Nick asks, pausing in his hits to rub his finger against Harry’s hole. “Any of your girls ever try for a sneaky finger?”  
  
“No,” Harry gasps, and Nick wishes he could see Harry’s face. “Just me.”  
  
“Good,” Nick replies, he pumps his hips up once against Harry’s stomach so Harry can feel how hard he is in his jeans. “We’re going to do ten hits. Do you think you can handle that, Harold?”  
  
“Yeah, okay.”  
  
The first smack Nick lays on Harry’s ass isn’t hard but it’s enough to start warming him up to the pain. After the first few he switches to hard, even strokes that have Harry gasping, the force of the blows pushing Harry forward so he’s rubbing his cock up against Nick’s leg on every hit. Harry’s breath is labored due to the restrictions of the collar and the collar looks so pretty against his flushed skin.   
  
After number seven, Nick pauses to reach his hand under to check Harry’s arousal. Harry’s so hard he’s leaving a wet spot on the side of Nick’s thighs. Nick grins and, without warning, brings his hand down hard on the curve where Harry’s ass meets his thigh. Harry lets out a yelp of pain.  
  
The skin of Harry’s ass has turned from milky white to red hot. The final two strokes are laid across the top as hard as he can hit from this angle and just like that Harry is coming in thick spurts against Nick’s thigh. He lets out a high pitched whine as he ruts up against Nick one last time before falling limp in his lap.  
  
Nick sits there speechless, naked pop star on his lap, not sure what he’s supposed to do now that Harry’s already come. Harry groans in embarrassment and curls in on himself so he can hide his face in the hem of Nick’s shirt, “I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay, popstar,” Nick tries at comforting, his mind half on the thought that he’s going to have to sneak into the toilet to rub one out soon if Harry’s done for the night. “It’s your birthday. If you want to come and pass out then that’s up to you. We’ve got plenty of time for other activities.”  
  
“No, I want to help now,” Harry insists, pulling himself up from Nick’s lap and dropping to his knees beside the bed. He paws clumsily at Nick’s crotch until Nick helps with the zipper and pulls his cock out from where it’s been contained this whole time. Harry rubs his pink cheek against the denim on Nick’s thigh and leans forward to breathe in the musky smell of sweat, pre come, and Nick.  
  
“Did you just sniff me?” Nick asks, affronted.  
  
Harry looks up at Nick through his damp lashes, his lips swollen from where he’d been biting into them throughout the spanking, “I’m new at this and you’ve got a foreskin. You’ll take what you get.”  
  
Harry laps at the head of Nick’s cock tentatively, testing out what the spongy head feels like against his tongue. He licks a broad stroke up the shaft and flicks his tongue teasingly at the ridge. He tilts his head sideways to mouth at Nick’s balls and lets out a mewl of distress when his tongue comes away with a stray hair attached to it. He plucks the hair from his mouth with a long finger and eyes Nick’s balls like they’ve betrayed him.   
  
Fed up with the teasing, Nick wraps his hands in Harry’s curls and pulls his head back towards his crotch. Nick pushes the head of his cock against Harry’s plump bottom lip and then guides it inside with the advice, “Use your lips to cover your teeth.”  
  
Nick fucks Harry’s mouth down onto his cock, guiding him up and down by a firm grip on his hair with one hand and another on the back of his neck, thumb looped in the collar, controlling the speed of movement. Harry sucks hard, drool starting to slip down his chin as Nick uses his mouth. Nick can’t help but pump his hips, forcing his cock too deep and causing Harry to choke, his throat tightening around Nick’s prick.  
  
Harry’s eyes water as he reflexively swallows around Nick’s cock.Nick moans, “Fuck Harry. You take my cock so well. You’re so good, Harold.”   
  
Nick keeps fucking Harry’s mouth, Harry whimpering and spluttering around Nick’s shaft, until his balls pull up tight against his taint and he’s almost ready to explode. He pulls Harry off and strokes his own cock, his fist almost too tight, until he’s coming over Harry’s full bottom lip and across his blush stained cheekbones.  Nick has to cover his eyes with his arm because the image of Harry on his knees, damp with sweat, eyes wet, collar tight around his throat, drool down his chin, and come splashed out over his cheek is too much especially when he’s poking his tongue out to taste the drops that landed on his lip.  
  
After a few moments of deep breathing, Nick reaches out and cups Harry’s cheek. He uses his thumb to wipe off the come and press it against Harry’s lower lip. Harry opens his mouth easily and sucks in Nick’s thumb, swirling his tongue around the digit and sucking it clean, his eyes wide and fixed on Nick. Nick’s voice is rough as he says, “Good boy, Harold.”  
  
Nick unbuckles the collar from the back of Harry’s neck, his sweaty hand fumbling with the latch. There’s a faint indent of where the collar had been pressing into Harry’s skin but the soft lining has prevented more serious damage.  
  
Nick gingerly pushes himself to his feet, tugs Harry up from the ground, and guides him gently into the toilet. His cock hangs out of his jeans in a manner that would be hilarious but Harry’s boneless and compliant the entire time Nick cleans them both off with a washcloth and rubs a smelly lotion into the harsh red stain spread across Harry’s ass.  
  
When they get back to the bedroom Harry immediately climbs into bed fully nude but Nick takes the time to strip off his jeans and switch the lights off before getting in as well.  
  
“I didn’t even get to see you naked,” Harry complains sleepily as he snuggles up to Nick’s still shirt clad chest.  
  
Nick trails his finger along the red mark left by the collar, he can’t see the color but he can feel the curve of the indentation, “Maybe next time, popstar.”


	4. forget about tomorrow, tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from: "Drinking from the Bottle" - Calvin Harris feat. Tinie Tempah

  
“But which is the team in the blue?”  
  
“Nick, we’ve been watching this game for an hour!” Harry exclaims. “How do you not know which team is which?”  
  
“I’ve been busy staring at their butts,” Nick shrugs, he’s been following the game better than he’s admitting because he likes it when Harry’s nose scrunches up every time Nick gets something wrong and the patient way he tries to explain. “What is it with sport and male homoeroticism?”  
  
“All that testosterone builds up,” Harry shrugs.  He flicks his eyes over to Nick and adds innocently. “Kind of like it does when you’re on tour in a crowded tour bus with four other guys – just wanting a little relief… sometimes you’re up for lending a helping hand…”  
  
“You’re a tease, Harold.” Nick lets out a heavy sigh. “You still owe me a naked picture of Zayn Malik.”  
  
“I asked but he said no.”  
  
“So sneak one when he’s in the shower or summat. You owe me.”  
  
“How’d you reckon that?”  
  
“Not sure… I’ll come up with something.” Nick watches one of the players on the blue team get tackled by four players from the other team as he ponders the question. “For letting you to be in my presence?”  
  
Harry snorts, “Alright. I’ll get one and we can put it on Grindr.”  
  
“Oh that’s great,” Nick laughs. “Can we put you on Grindr and see how many guys come up to you while we’re out?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Nick grabs Harry’s phone out of his hand and taps through to his app store, where he pulls up Grindr. While it’s downloading he smirks at Harry and asks, “Should we go into the toilet and get a picture for your profile or just download the one off the internet?”  
  
Harry’s returning smirk is slow and dirty. So just like that they end up in squashed together in a toilet stall, the handicapped stall was already taken and by the sounds emerging from it the two pairs of feet wouldn’t be done for awhile. Harry huffs out a laugh as they struggle pulling down his tight jeans.  
  
“Fuck Harry,” Nick complains quietly. “Do you hafta use lube to get these on?”  
  
“No, just have to wiggle a bit,” Harry demonstrates by shaking his hips. They manage to shift Harry’s trousers down to mid thigh and Harry’s eyes are wide and blown black when he looks up at Nick and asks, “Should I be hard for this?”  
  
“Yeah,” Nick breathes out. “Sit down.”  
  
“On the toilet? That’s disgusting.” Harry complains.  
  
“Harry. Sit down.”  
  
Harry grumbles a bit but again, just like that, he’s on the toilet with his trousers and pants down to his knees and his cock lying thick against his thigh. Nick leans against the door of the stall and has to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to prevent himself from dropping to his knees on the floor in front of Harry. The moans from the stall next to them escalate and a pretty pink flush brightens up Harry’s collarbone.  
  
Nick clears his throat, “Get going then.”  
  
The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up and he lifts one hand to press against the wall behind him as he uses the other to press his cock into his thigh, sliding the heel of his palm firmly along its length. Nick rolls his eyes, “Just get on with it. We haven’t got all night.”  
  
So Harry switches to long tight strokes – the momentum swings his balls into the edge of the toilet and he lets out a whine of distress and mutters, “Gross.”  
  
“Cup them with your other hand,” Nick orders, but he croaks it out and it sounds more like a suggestion. As such, Harry doesn’t listen and instead uses his left hand to slide his shirt up. Harry brings his right hand up to his mouth and licks a thick stripe along the palm and rubs the moisture over the head of his cock and down the thick vein on the underside.  
  
The slick sound of Harry wanking fast is deafening to Nick’s ears and he’s sure that someone must be able to hear them now that the couple from the stall next has gone. And Nick’s eyes have been on Harry’s pretty prick this whole time so he’s just realized he’s been missing the show on Harry’s face – eyelids heavy and lidded, eyelashes fluttering, his mouth parted, and lips red and full.  
  
Nick swallows and his voice is firm when he repeats, “I told you to cup your balls, Harold.”  
  
Harry squeezes his eyes shut tightly and immediately drops his hand to roll his balls through his long fingers. And Nick wants to suck them into his mouth individually until they pull up tight against the base of his cock. He wonders if any of the girls Harry’s been with ever paid any attention to his balls or if the sensation of the tip of Nick’s tongue grazing against the thin skin would be a brand new sensation. Desire pools hot in Nick’s belly and his own dick is half hard in his pants and pressing uncomfortably against his zipper.  
  
“Picture,” Nick blurts out suddenly, clutching his phone like it’s a lifeline and waving it at Harry. “You ready?”  
  
They spend a few moments searching for the best angle and settle with the reddened head of Harry’s cock pressed up against his belly button and his balls drawn up tight against where Harry has his hand tightly gripping the base.  Nick squints at it through the screen on his phone and says, “At risk of sounding like I’m shooting a low budget porno I have to tell you that your cock looks GREAT from this angle.”  
  
“Thanks,” Harry murmurs, giving his cock a teasing stroke and flicking his wrist at the end. He palms the damp head and looks up at Nick, “You going to help me finish it off or just keep watching?”  
  
“Neither. Get up and get your trousers back on.”  
  
“What?” Harry’s eyes snap open, bewildered.  
  
“You heard me,” Nick replies, his voice firm. “You came early last time so now you have to wait.”  
  
Harry lifts off the toilet, his legs trembling. It takes him a few minutes to get his tight jeans up his thighs but he manages though his cock is visibly straining beneath the fabric as he turns to Nick like a puppy dog waiting for praise. Nick rubs his hand through Harry’s curls and scratches at his scalp, “Good boy.”  


* * *

  
  
“Okay I’ve got four minutes to chat during this record,” Nick tells Harry who’s kindly called into the show to participate in a ridiculous Valentine’s feature. “How was France?”  
  
“Good, got to do an interview with just Louis and we went down the river and ate at this restaurant - Le Relais de l'Entrecôte – and I’m pretty sure the waiter spit in Louis’ food because, like, the way they do it, is you don’t pick your own food. You just get steak and chips. And you know how picky Louis is with his food so he was whinging.”  
  
“When is he not?”  
  
“Hey,” Harry protests. “Don’t be mean.”  
  
Nick rolls his eyes, “You’re on the train now, yeah?”  
  
“Mhmm,” Harry hums into the phone. “Be home in two hours, tops.”  
  
“Okay just come round to Groucho when you get in – Alexa’s got that thing we’re celebrating. And then I’m going to take you home and tie you up,” Nick tells him casually, doodling absently on his script. “Tease you until you cry. You okay with that?”  
  
Harry chokes and coughs into the phone, “Alright.”  
  
“We should get you a safe word. Shoulda done that days ago actually.”  
  
“I don’t need one,” Harry responds immediately. “We’ve already got the colors. And I trust you.”  
  
“Harold,” Nick’s tone turns stern. “If you trust me then you’ll trust me when I tell you to pick a safe word.”  
  
There’s silence on the other line for a moment and Nick worries that Harry’s hung up but eventually his voice comes through, albeit a bit resentfully: “What should it be?”  
  
“I dunno. Just pick a random word. Something you won’t say in bed.”  
  
“Prawn?”  
  
“What? No prawns in bed? There go my plans for next Tuesday.”  
  
Harry laughs, “I’m sure you’ll think of something else. Or we can change it if you’re dead set on the prawns. I’m not dead set against them.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“You don’t have any photo shoots coming up right? I can leave marks?”  
  
“As long as they’re below the collarbone.”  
  
This moment should be photographed, Nick thinks, it should be blown up fifty meters tall and plastered on the side of a museum. The sight of Harry spread-eagle on his white sheets, arms and legs stretched out by thick black restraints, head tilted back so his neck is bared, wearing only the collar Nick had purchased for him, and his cock dribbling against the hard curve of his hip. He wants to keep this moment, trap it on film or on canvas.  
  
“How much do you think we’d get for a sex tape?” Nick asks, trailing his finger across Harry’s abs and watching them twitch.  
  
“A lot,” Harry’s voice is even slower than usual. “We could buy an island, but we’d have to live off of coconuts and bananas.”  
  
Nick presses his thumbs into the crevices below Harry’s pecs, pressing firmly and holding them there until Harry’s hips begin to twist. He shifts his fingers over slightly and repeats the process, “Can you catch fish?”  
  
“I could learn,” Harry gasps, his arms tugging fruitlessly against the restraints, the muscles of his chest twitching as Nick continues to press bruises into his pale skin. Nick knows the dull throbbing ache is different than the sharp brief smacks Harry was used to so he keeps a close eye on him.  
  
“I’d be useless of course,” Nick tells him, giving in and pressing a kiss to Harry’s straining bicep. He grazes the muscle with his teeth but this patch of skin is off limits for bruises so he moves on and instead sinks his teeth into the faint bruise that’s already emerging about Harry’s left pectoral. Harry lets out a low keening whine which Nick reluctantly speaks over, “I’d just lie on the beach under an umbrella and drink mojitos.”  
  
“Where would we,” Harry’s breath is coming out in thick pants, his tongue darting out to lick over his lower lip. “No ice.”  
  
“Can’t have that,” Nick sighs. “I’ll have to make a sex tape with one of The Wanted instead. They’d be able to set me up with a proper island with electricity and a butler.”  
  
Harry’s eyebrows furrow and his mouth pinches together. Nick huffs out a laugh and kisses the winkles on Harry’s forehead until they smooth out. That taken care of, he begins to press the pads of his fingers against Harry’s ribs, hooking them under and pulling up hard until Harry’s whimpers are more pain than pleasure and his cock is beginning to soften against his thigh.   
  
Nick carefully draws up bruises along lines marked by Harry’s rib cage and flicks his tongue teasingly against Harry’s third nipple, “This one is my favorite.”  
  
He slides off the bed and walks around to the bottom of the bed so he can crawl between Harry’s legs and nose playfully at his balls. Nick closes his mouth over one of them and sucks hard. He flicks his tongue against the soft skin hidden behind them as he struggles to get his own pants down his thighs and over his own rock solid prick.  
  
When Nick climbs up Harry’s body he wraps his hands around Harry’s waist so his thumbs are pressed into the bruises forming on the curve of his hip bone. There are tears prickling in Harry’s eyes but his gaze is unfocused and hazy as Nick presses their cocks together between their bodies.  
  
He tugs at Harry’s earlobe with his teeth, “You okay, babe? You with me?”  
  
Harry doesn’t answer, just pants and bucks his hips up as much as he can in the restraints. Nick pauses and shifts his weight so his hips keep Harry’s pressed firmly to the bed, “What’s your color, Harold?”  
  
It takes Harry a while to emerge from the fog but he gasps out, “Green.”  
  
Nick starts up a slow rhythm, it’s the first relief he’s gotten all night and the hard line of Harry’s cock feels brilliant against his own, sweat smoothing the way but allowing enough friction for it to be rough and keep him on the edge longer. Harry tries to return the motion but the restraints on his legs don’t allow much movement so Nick’s free to use Harry’s body how he likes, his fingers continuing to press layers of bruises into Harry’s chest.  
  
“We can get an island in the north pole and then there will be ice,” Harry begins muttering nonsensically, his eyes heavily lidded and unfixed. “Lots of ice. But we’d need a blender.”  
  
“That’s a very good plan Harry,” Nick’s voice is soothing as he kisses Harry’s cheek and rolls their hips together. “You’re a very good boy for coming up with that.”  
  
Harry tugs at all of his restraints at once as come begins dribbling out of his cock, in sluggish thick puddles. Nick scoops a bit off of Harry’s stomach and paints Harry’s lower lip with it. Harry’s already beginning to go limp so Nick takes himself in hand and quickly jerks off, one hand tight on his cock while the other smears come across Harry’s cheekbone, and adds his own release to the puddle on Harry’s trembling stomach.  
  
Nick slowly rolls off the bed, his knees shaking as he goes around to each side of the bed to release the restraints trapping Harry’s limbs. When freed, Harry immediately curls in on himself so that he’s a tight ball in the center of the bed. Nick fetches a damp cloth from the toilet and forces Harry to unwrap so he can wipe the mess from his face and stomach and unbuckle the collar.  
  
After cleaning him up, Nick guides them both under the blankets. Harry immediately attaches himself to Nick’s side, sliding one leg between Nick’s legs, burying his nose in Nick’s neck, and tangling his hand in the hair on Nick’s chest.  


* * *

  
  
The next morning Nick is puttering around the kitchen, putting together some toast and coffee when Harry bursts into the room, fully nude and eyes wild. He stops immediately upon spotting Nick, “I thought you’d gone.”  
  
“Just here,” Nick replies, eyeing Harry warily. “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry replies immediately. But then he shakes his curls out in front of his face and changes his mind, “No. I don’t think I am. I feel weird.”  
  
“That’s just the drop,” Nick tells him, tugging the younger boy forward into a tight hug.  
  
Harry lets out a shuddering breath into Nick’s neck and asks, “The what?”  
  
“It’s got to do with the like endorphins I think,” Nick struggles to explain. “How your body reacts to pain. There’s kind of a come down period to balance it out. C’mon, take your mug and we’ll watch Nigella and cuddle until you feel better.”  
  
“What are we doing?” Harry asks into Nick’s collarbone.  
  
“It’s called a hug, Harold.”  
  
“Don’t be an asshole. I feel like I’ve been sat on by an elephant and I leave in ten days.”  
  
“I’ve got some cream we can put on the bruises.”  
  
Harry pulls away sharply and pouts, “You know that’s not what I mean. Are we not going to talk about me leaving?”  
  
“No?”  
  
It’s not the right answer and Harry disappears back into the bedroom with the loud slamming of a door and the sharp click of a lock. Nick runs his hand through his deflated quiff, he knows it’s the drop and that he’s not allowed to have his usual relationship talk meltdown because he caused this in a way but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to run out of the flat in nothing but his pants and socks.  
  
Instead, he shuffles over to the door and knocks on it gently. Harry opens the door immediately, his face hot pink in shame, and wraps his arms tightly around Nick, “I’m sorry. I feel all weird. I would like some of that cream please.”  
  
“Would you like to put your collar back on? Do you think that would help?”  
  
Harry nods his head against Nick’s collarbone, getting curls in Nick’s mouth as he clings to him, “Yeah.”  
  
The collar isn’t as stiff now that it’s been used a few times and the wild confusion in Harry’s eyes disappears immediately as his eyelashes shutter down when it’s buckled in tight around his neck. Nick guides Harry over to the couch. When he sits down, Harry immediately curls around him. He flicks on the television, “What do you want to watch, popstar?”  
  
Harry just hums and rubs his cheek against Nick’s thigh until Nick gets the hint and scratches the spot behind Harry’s ear. Nick turns to a repeat of Come Dine with Me and settles in for the long haul. Harry speaks up halfway through the episode in the middle of a pie crisis and says, “We don’t have to talk about what it means but we do need to coordinate our diaries if I’m going to see you at all before I go.”  
  
“My mum comes into town in a few days,” Nick digs his nails in concentric circles on Harry’s scalp. “But we’ve for sure got the Brit awards.”  
  
“I leave the day after the day after the Brits,” Harry adds.  
  
“What?” Nick squawks. “I thought that – I told a friend I would DJ a gig for them that night. I didn’t…”  
  
“I could come,” Harry suggests. “To see you DJ. I haven’t got anything else to do.”  
  
Nick smoothes his hand down Harry’s bare hip where goose pimples are popping up from the cold. He tugs an afghan off the back of the couch and tucks it around Harry. He’s hesitant as he adds, “And my mum would love to see you, yeah? I told you she would end up loving you more than me.”  
  
Harry nods his head and lets out a sleepy yawn, “Where are you taking her?”  
  
“Stella McCartney. Do ya wanna come to that? You like clothes and things: Tall and hungry women walking.”  
  
“Shut up,” Harry groans. “You had your mouth on my balls last night and you’re still making womanizer jokes.”  
  
Nick fondles the buckle on Harry’s collar, “Does it bother you? When people make those jokes.”  
  
Harry is silent for so long that Nick opens his mouth to turn the question into a joke when Harry finally speaks up, “It doesn’t because, like, it’s not a bad trade-off. And I mean, if someone just… writes me off because of those articles and jokes and isn’t willing to take the time to um, get to know me then they’re not really worth my time. Are they?”  
  
“Why don’t you drop 1D and we’ll form a rap duo. We could quiff your hair and be the next Jedward,” Nick deflects. He’s good at this: sneaking in a serious question and then diverting the conversation with a joke so that the person he’s talking to hardly notices the interlude. It’s what makes him a good interviewer and what makes him completely rubbish at relationships. “Nobody cares who Jedward dates.”  
  
“Pixie showed me pictures of you with blonde hair,” Harry hums thoughtfully, pressing a kiss against Nick’s inner thigh. “I liked it.”  
  
“Shut up,” Nick slides his hand down Harry’s chest and pinches the underside of a sore rib. He scratches over Harry’s fourth nipple and leaves his thumb pressed against the third.  
  
“You really do have a favorite don’t you?”  
  
“I think it’s important to pick favorites. I judge everyone I meet by who their favorite member of 1D is. If they pick anyone other than Niall I can’t be friends with them.”  
  
“Heyyyy,” Harry complains.  


* * *

  
It almost seems like daylight when they leave the Stella McCartney presentation because of all the cameras flashing around them. They’re supposed to leave separately but Harry darts back up the stairs to take Eileen’s other arm and guide her through the crowd. She spends the rest of the evening cooing over Harry for having to put up with the paparazzi on a daily basis as she searches through Nick’s kitchen for something edible to shove down Harry’s throat.  
  
Harry just smiles and sits pressed up tight against Nick’s side. Nick never thought he wanted commitment – or more accurately never thought it was in the cards for him – but sitting here with Harry makes his stomach throb with want.  He stamps down the feeling and cups his hand around the back of Harry’s neck and squeezes, sex is easy.  
  
“Nick, you’ve only got yoghurt and bacon,” Eileen calls from the kitchen. “You aren’t just eating takeaway are you? You know it makes your face puffy.”  
  
Harry snorts, causing Nick to squeeze his neck in warning, thumb pressing firmly on his pulse point. Harry calls back to Eileen, “Better than him burning the place down.”  
  
“I made beans on toast yesterday,” Nick protests. “You said you loved them.”  
  
Eileen comes back into the room with a plate of biscuits that she seems to have conjured from thin air. She sets them near Harry and glares pointedly at Nick when he reaches for one. He shoves it in his mouth like a petulant four year old and she shakes her head at him as she turns to Harry: “When do you leave, Harry?”  
  
Harry’s pulse jumps under Nick’s thumb as he answers, “The 23rd.”  
  
“I wanted to warn you that Nick will probably do something to upset you in the next few days but you needn’t take him seriously. It’s a coping mechanism.”  
  
“Mum!” Nick shrieks.  
  
“I used to think it was low self-esteem,” Eileen continues unabated. “But obviously that isn’t the issue.”  
  
“Oh god,” Nick moans, dropping his head onto Harry’s shoulder which is shaking from suppressed laughter.  
  
“You’ll thank me later,” Eileen waves him off. “He’s a good boy, Harry. He just forgets to think things through sometimes.”  


* * *

  
  
“I won’t miss you at all,” Nick insists, refusing to get out of bed as Harry potters around the bedroom collecting his clothing from the night before.  
  
Harry smirks up at him, “Of course you will. Your mum told me you would and that was before I won a Brit award. Now you’ll doubly miss me”  
  
“I know what my mum said,” Nick runs his hand through his deflated quiff, tugging out one of the knots that had built up. “But you know I don’t mind if you want to… you know, sow your wild oats on tour.”  
  
Harry’s face creases, “Is this you doing exactly what your mum said you would?”  
  
“I’m not saying we should end this,” Nick waves his hand between them in a vague gesture. “Just that you should have fun and I’ll be here when you get back if you still want me.”  
  
“And what if you find someone else while I’m gone?”  
  
“I’ve avoided commitment thus far in life. I think it’ll manage to avoid me another few months.”  
  
Harry shakes out his hair and perches on the edge of Nick’s bed, “You’re an asshole.”  
  
“Heyyyy,” Nick drawls.  
  
“You refuse to talk about it at all and then I’m literally about to walk out the door and you can’t shut up and just kiss me goodbye,” Harry complains.  
  
“I’ve not brushed my teeth yet,” Nick warns him, pushing himself upright in bed. “It’ll be disgusting.”  
  
But Harry’s eyes are wide and pleading so Nick kisses him. He licks his way into Harry’s mouth and chases away the taste with his tongue. When he’s finished, Harry’s lips are swollen and his cock half hard in his ridiculous jeans. Nick cups the bulge and regretfully says, “We should have woken up a bit earlier.”  
  
“Don’t think I could have gone another round, to be honest,” Harry grins ruefully. “This plane ride is going to be miserable.”  
  
“Worth it though,” Nick thumbs Harry’s lip. “You looked so good fucking yourself on my cock. I can’t believe you’d never done that before.”  
  
“I’m just a natural,” Harry darts in for another quick kiss. His phone goes off and he reluctantly climbs off the bed and slips his trainers on. He stands in the middle of the bedroom, glancing around to make sure he doesn’t forget anything. Nick gives in and follows him to the door, pressing kisses to the back of his neck and being a general nuisance. Harry presses one last lingering kiss to the corner of Nick’s mouth and is out the door.  
  
Nick drags himself back into the bedroom and collapses back into the bed. He buries his head underneath his pillow and spends the next two hours imagining what his life would be like if he hibernated in his flat until One Direction finished with tour. And he spends the two hours after that texting everyone he knows that is still in London to remind himself how much he loved his life prior to Harry’s abrupt takeover of his time.  
  
All progress towards recovery is lost when his phone buzzes: _“We just boarded. Wish me luck!”_


	5. it's getting late to give you up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from: "Toxic" - Brittany Spears
> 
> Thanks again to my lovely beta Rosa who has returned to help out. Also thank you much for the lovely comments some of you have left. It's very nice and encouraging to read when I've got writer's block!

“You have to come be my buffer,” Nick frantically waves a copy of Heat in Matt Fincham’s face. There’s a picture of Harry kissing a girl on the front of it and it looks grainy and awkward but it’s not Nick he’s kissing and Nick knows he didn’t have a claim on Harry but he needed more than a day to process this but now Harry is home and here and he’s on his way and Nick is panicking.

“To the pub with you and Harry? Of course I will.” Matt eyes Nick speculatively, but offers him a grin rather than commenting further. They’ve not been working together long and they’re still in that awkward dance for control and balance present in every producer-host relationship, but Matt’s already learned that pushing Nick isn’t the way to best results.

Their usual pub is just down the street and it’s crappy enough that they can arrive after the show and there are still plenty of tables to choose from.  When they arrive tonight there’s a shiny silver Audi R8 Coupe parked outside and it probably costs more than the pub makes in a year. And despite this, Harry doesn’t look out of place, leaning up against the passenger door, his legs clad in skin tight denim and looking miles long. He’s got his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in concentration as he types out a message on his phone and having him here in person sends the butterflies in Nick’s stomach swirling up and around.

When Harry looks up and spots them his eyes light up and his dimples emerge in full force. Nick has a deflated quiff and a Conor Maynard t-shirt hooked around his neck and he doesn’t know where they stand, so of course he panics, “Can I get in the boot?”

Harry raises an eyebrow as he crosses around to their side of the street, “What?”

“Can I get in the boot of your car? For a laugh? Finchy, take a picture.”

“I guess,” Harry shrugs and pops the boot open and he’s still smiling but hesitantly like he’s not sure if this joke is being played on him.

As Nick is climbing into the boot of the car he wonders if one day he’ll be able to just accept the humiliation he’s granted without making it a thousand times worse. After Matt takes a few snaps with his phone, Nick hops out of the car and cracks his back and loops his arm over Matt’s shoulders, “First round is on you, popstar.”

“Alright,” Harry agrees immediately and his easy acceptance almost takes the fun out of it, but a pink flush spreads down his neck and Nick feels a pang of want low in his gut.

Inside it’s too dark and too loud and Matt’s face is unforgiving, “Did you even say hello to him?”

“What? Of course I…”  Nick trails off.

“Did not,” Matt interrupts.

Nick is tempted to respond with “Did too” but shows an unusual amount of restraint. Harry returns from the bar and plunks down three poorly drawn pints. He pulls in a chair close to Nick, “How come you’ve got a shirt with Conor Maynard’s face on it and not one with mine?”

“Because he knows how to treat me right. You never gave me one with your face so soz but I left you for Conor Maynard.”

“I’ve got an extra action figure of me at home that you can have,” Harry offers.

Nick hums thoughtfully, “I guess that’s a fair trade up. Can I have a Zayn doll as well so I can mash your faces together and pretend you’re kissing?”

“They’re action figures,” Harry whines because of course that’s the bit he focused on.

“Finchy wants a Niall so he can set it on his desk and stare at it.”

“Harry, Nick was just telling me how glad he is that you’re back in town.”

Harry’s fake pout quickly morphs into a dimple-bearing smile and he nudges Nick with his shoulder, “I knew you missed me.”

“Might have done,” Nick replies. And because he’s just a little bit masochistic, adds lightly: “You on the other hand seemed to have enough company to keep you busy.”

“What?”

“You’re all over the papers. 1D fans are out for blood. Finchy, did you bring that copy of Heat? Your technique looks a bit sloppy but they’re jealous anyway.”

“Shut up, you know I’m not – it’s not – like that,” Harry shoves Nick in the arm. “She’s got a boyfriend.”

“Not anymore, I’m sure.” Matt pipes up from his side of the table.

Nick laughs too loud and pushes his chair back, “I need another drink.”

Harry looks up at him, eyes imploring, as he softly says: “Nick.”

“Never explain, never complain. Right popstar?” Nick forces his mouth into a wide smile, “Same again for the drinks?”

The bar is a welcome relief, and a familiar face greets Nick when he arrives at it, “Alright mate?”

“Hiya Charlie. Working the late shift?”

“Been on it most of the month. Haven’t seen you around much.”

“Well maybe if this bar wasn’t so shit you’d see more of me.”

“Not much I can do about this bar, but I know a few others that might be worth me seeing you in,” Charlie smirks his way through the statement but grows significantly less confident as he gets to the end. “Shit. That didn’t make much sense did it? I mean, I’d like to see more of you in a bar that isn’t shit?”

“Are you asking me out, Charlie off of the pub?”

“It started off that way didn’t it? But I think I lost the plot a bit towards the end.”

“Nick!” Harry calls impatiently from the table. “Where’s my drink?”

“Right, that’s me,” Charlie says sheepishly. “I’ll get your round. Don’t know what I was thinking asking when you’ve got Harry Styles at your table.”

Nick wonders if he should correct Charlie or at least put him off that train of gossip, but he’s not sure what to say, and even if he wanted to he can’t sleep with Charlie – Fincham would kill him if he wrecked their usual because he was avoiding a one-night stand. So he stays silent and awkwardly gives Charlie a thumbs up before he picks up the drinks and heads back to the table.

“How was Charlie?” Matt asks with a knowing grin.

“What?” Nick squawks.

“He’s had a thing for you forever. I thought he might’ve finally plucked up the courage to say something.”

“Oh god,” Nick groans. “We can’t come back here ever again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can probably get us some free drinks. We’re always coming here now.”

“I’ll buy you drinks. One of those really expensive ones where you just like, breathe air and it tastes like cotton candy but it gets you drunk,” Harry offers. “I read about it in Time Out.”

* * *

 

“What’s it feel like,” Harry asks later. They’re spread out naked over Nick’s couch later that evening, sweaty and mostly spent, Harry still with his hand on Nick’s cock. 

“Wha’s wha like?” Nick mumbles, struggling to raise his eyelids.

“Having a foreskin.”

Nick let’s his eyelashes shutter down again and shifts his body so he’s got Harry tucked in the crack between Nick’s side and the couch with his face nestled in Nick’s chest hair, “Can show you later.”

“You can show me?” Harry asks dubiously. “You’re not going to like, wrap a piece a ham around my cock are you?”

Nick snorts and tangles his hand in Harry’s damp curls, “Why do you always think I’m trying to involve food in our sex life? Bacon might be nice though. Could we use the grease as slick do you think?”

“That would be disgusting to clean out,” Harry mumbles back, rubbing his cheek against the dense fuzz of Nick’s chest. He sighs happily as it scrapes along his soft skin and reveals, “Missed you.”

“No you didn’t. I saw those pictures of you all shirtless and gorgeous on a boat,” Nick absently scratches the base of Harry’s neck. “You were having the time of your life.”

“Australia was amazing. Did I tell you I held a koala?”

“You did, plus I read it in the papers. Forgot to ask if I needed to be worried about the Chlamydia.”

“You know, everyone kind of knows the rags just make shit up, but I don’t think I realized it was quite this bad until they started printing about me. Like the Chlamydia story. All that happened was we were told koalas usually have Chlamydia and then next thing you know all of us have it.”

“There used to be articles about me and Pixie saying that either she was in my harem or Bob Geldof paid me to chaperone her about town or summat,” Nick offers.

A bark of laughter bursts from deep inside Harry’s chest, the one that emerges suddenly and forcefully and always makes Harry blush, and his dimple is out in full force as he looks up at Nick, “You’d look good in Australia.”

“No I wouldn’t. My skin would burn and then I’d start to peel and it’d be disgusting.”

Harry laughs and heaves his body up so he can straddle Nick’s waist, “C’mon, old man. You said something about a show and tell?”

Nick shoves Harry backwards so that he’s perched on top of Nick’s thighs instead of his waist, their half hard cocks bumping each other, and struggles to move into a half seated position on the couch with Harry’s weight on top of him.  He reaches his hand between them and wraps his hand around both their pricks, stroking firmly to bring them both to full hardness, “Scoot back a bit more.”

Harry swoops his fringe out of his eyes and obeys, “Is this going to be weird?”

“Kind of,” Nick shrugs. “Most sex things are, aren’t they? Okay, just like, hold your cock steady against mine. Just like that: against the head. Don’t move it.”

It looks a little ridiculous, the sticky heads of their cocks pressed together, slipping slightly because for some reason it is way sexier than it should be and they’re both dripping with excitement. Nick slides his foreskin up and over his cock and then stretches it further up to envelop the head of Harry’s. Harry lets out a gasp and his hips stutter forward. Nick laughs, rough with want, “This, Harry, is docking.”

“Do it again,” Harry insists.

Nick repeats the motion and leans forward to lick the straining vein in Harry’s neck. He suckles at Harry’s jawline and mouths wetly at his ear, “Tell me what it feels like.”

“It’s hot,” Harry gasps, his hips jerking. “Being inside you. You stretching around me. Need more though. Friction.”

Nick speeds up his motions, stroking his foreskin down his own shaft and then back up to wrap around the head of Harry’s dick. Harry reaches his hand down and slides a finger alongside his cock and drags it along the inside of Nick’s foreskin. Nick shudders at the foreign feeling and sucks a deep purple mark into the divot of Harry’s collarbone in retaliation. He releases their cocks and pulls Harry tight against his chest, fingers leaving bruises along the line of Harry’s tan on his hip bones bringing out dark blue in the milky skin of his upper thighs, “I don’t know if I like the tan. Doesn’t hold a bruise as well.”

Their cocks press tight between their stomachs, Harry’s abs hard and Nick’s a bit more forgiving. There’s enough friction now as Harry ruts frantically on top of Nick’s body, Nick’s chest hair chafing against his sensitive nipples. Nick cups Harry’s pert bottom and uses it as leverage to press Harry tighter against him, digs his fingers into skin that didn’t have a chance to see any sun and admits, “Missed this.”

Harry whimpers and spurts wetly over Nick’s cock, smearing come between their stomachs as he shudders through the aftershocks. Nick slaps a hand down hard on Harry’s ass and Harry’s cock gives another jerk and dribbles a bit more.  Nick flips them around so that he’s hovering over Harry who looks up at him with blown out eyes and his obscene bitten red mouth. Nick wants to shove his cock into that mouth, wants to come all over those swollen lips, but knows he wouldn’t last long enough.

Instead, Nick captures Harry’s mouth in a frantic kiss – no technique, just open mouthed and messy – and ruts up against the jutting bone of his hip until he empties himself onto the dusting of hair leading down from Harry’s bellybutton.  Spent, he collapses onto Harry who lets out a groan as Nick’s elbow collides with his stomach, “Careful. Arg, get off me. You’re so heavy.”

Nick snuggles into Harry’s neck, “Nope. Not moving for at least three weeks.”

“Nick, I can’t breathe,” Harry complains. He shoves fruitlessly at Nick but can’t get his arms into a position for enough leverage. “Nick, I’m dying.”

Nick shifts over enough so he’s not resting entirely on Harry’s ribcage, but can’t be arsed to do more, “Such a diva.”

 

* * *

 

They have to peel themselves off each other the next morning – stuck together by dried come and sweat.  Harry insists that Nick fuck him in the shower and then take him out for a proper British fry up. He smiles at Nick around a mouthful of beans on toast, “Can’t get this in America.”

“Of course you can. It’s literally the easiest thing in the world. Go to the shop and buy a can of beans. Make some toast. Even I can do it and I’ve only got one pot.”

“Well the bacon is different,” Harry insists. “It’s all thin and burnt.”

“Well good thing you live here then. Your fans would be devastated if you deserted them for America permanently.”

“Just the fans?”

“And me,” Nick shrugs. “I’d cry into my cereal every morning. How long are you back for?”

“Gonna pop up to Cheshire tonight to see my mum and then I have to go to LA in a few days to talk to management about what happened in Australia and my recent proclivities as they’ve put it. I’ll probably spend a few days with Cal and Jen, but then I’m back for about a month.”

“What happened in Australia?”

“Oh,” Harry’s eyes drop down to his plate and a blush spreads across his cheek. “We were at this bar, yeah? And someone got footage of me and Louis kissing. It’s blurry and you can’t really tell – and Louis is straight so it’s not like it really was anything, but yeah.  So they want to see me. They said it’s to talk about what options we have, but after setting me up with that girl I think clearly they’re only giving me one option.”

“Harold, they are looking out for you. Gay doesn’t pay even in porn. And you’re the moneymaker.”

Harry huffs, “I wouldn’t mind not coming out, I mean I’m not even sure if I’ve got a label to come out with, if I could just be like you. Not really saying anything, but not denying anything either, but after the Australia thing and the fans being obsessed with Larry and the thing with Jonathan in New York and those pictures of me leaving your flat in the morning right before tour– they want to like, actively combat the rumors.”

“What thing with Jonathan?” Nick asks sharply. “You seem to have left all the best bits out of your tour stories.”

Harry fidgets in his seat, “I went out with Aimee a few times and he tagged along and we went to a club.”

“Did you fuck him?” Nick asks, bile rising up in his throat because he’d rather hear about Harry and a thousand random girls and fuck, he’d love to hear about Harry and Louis, he’d probably get off on that for weeks, but not Jonathan.

“I thought you said it was okay if I…” Harry trails off uncertainly when he spots the fierce look in Nick’s eyes. “This is why I wanted to talk about stuff before I left.”

“No, yeah it’s fine. I said didn’t I? It’s just I didn’t expect it to be Jonathan,” Nick laugh sounds hollow to his own ears.

Nick can see Harry putting the pieces together in his head, “Oh god. I’m an idiot.”

“You weren’t to know,” Nick shrugs awkwardly. “It’s not like I talk about it.”

“You’re like a clam,” Harry decides. “Except I didn’t know clams could talk so much.”

“You’re a bit of a clam yourself.”

“Am not,” Harry insists. “Ask me anything.”

“Was Louis a good kisser?”

Harry laughs and steals a piece of bacon off Nick’s plate, “He’s alright.”

“Did he have a big gay freak out about it?”

“No,” Harry pinches his mouth together like he’s trying not to laugh. “He’s very confident in his sexuality. He’s started a love bite competition.”

“So if I see pictures of you in Heat with love bites all down your neck I shouldn’t be jealous because it’s just Tomlinson? That’s not convenient at all…”

“Would you be jealous?” Harry asked.

“I think so,” Nick admits, his heart pounding in his chest.

A smile breaks out wide on Harry’s face and he nudges his foot forward until he bumps Nick’s, “Good. I’d be jealous too. If someone were giving you love bites.”

“I still don’t. I still think we shouldn’t.” Nick starts and stops twice before trying to word things correctly. “You’re still going on tour, but maybe when you get back we’ll just give each other love bites.”

Harry hooks his foot around Nick’s ankle, “Sounds good.”

“But maybe only sleep with people you hate,” Nick suggests. “Like attractive people, obviously, but ones with really awful personalities.

“I could do,” Harry laughed. “If you do the same.”

“I hate everyone mostly,” Nick agrees immediately. “So it shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

* * *

 

When Harry gets back from LA he attaches himself to Nick’s side like a barnacle. They go to dinner at Annie and Toddla T’s house. They go for drinks with Miquita and post silly pictures on instagram. Harry goes to Sweden for five days and is back at Nick’s flat the night they return. Nick’s left Harry’s collar on the table by the door as an invitation if Harry’s not too tired to play. After buzzing Harry into the complex, Nick lingers around the kitchen listening as the door opens and shuts. 

Eventually, Harry enters the kitchen naked but for the collar wrapped tight around his neck. His eyes are sleep mussed but he’s smiling and greets Nick with a kiss. Nick rubs his hand down Harry’s flank, admiring the way his hand can wrap perfectly around his hip, “Hello Harold. I’ve got something special planned for you. Go into the bedroom and stand facing the wall with your arms crossed above your head.”

Nick gives Harry enough time to find the leather flogger placed carefully on top of the bed. Gives him enough time to back out before he enters the bedroom to find Harry standing facing the wall with his legs pressed tightly together from foot to perineum and the long expanse of his back stretched out completely by the position of his arms.

Earlier in the day, Nick rubbed the flogger with oil and when Nick trails the ends up along Harry’s side, barely brushing against his skin, it leaves a slight sheen along with a trail of goose bumps. Nick nudges his foot between Harry’s legs and spreads them out so Harry’s got better balance. He trails the strands up over the back of Harry’s kneecaps, up his highs, over the curve of his ass, and up his knobby spine.

“You look good like this,” Nick tells him. “All spread out and waiting for me.”

There’s not much of a bite to the flogger, but it quickly draws out faint pink lines across Harry’s back, ass, and upper thighs. His skin heats up under the constant snap and turns the skin an angry red. Harry’s whimpering by that time, tears pooling under his eyes and dripping down his cheeks. Nick keeps a constant stream of praise running, “You’re such a good boy, Harold. So obedient. You take it so well.”

Nick reaches around to check on the state of Harry’s arousal. He finds him hard and dripping against the wall, “You’ve made a mess, Harry. Clean it up.”

Harry immediately drops to his knees, his tongue coming out of his mouth before he hits the ground. He presses his forehead against the wall, eyes closed, as he laps up the fluid. Nick moves over to his closet and reaches behind his winter coats to pull out a heavy paddle. He hefts the weight of it in his hands and returns to where Harry is dragging the tip of his tongue up the wall in a long slow streak.  

“Ten with the paddle, Harold. Count them.”

Once he gets Harry back in position, Nick doesn’t take it easy on him. He lays hard strokes against Harry’s ass and upper thighs. Harry struggles when they get to five and Nick kisses the back of his neck, “Five, Harold. Harry, come back down a little for me. You can do it, popstar.”

“Five,” Harry shudders out, his arms and thighs shaking.  

“Five more and then you’re done, okay Harold?”

They count out the last five hits together and when they’re finished Nick gathers up a shivering Harry in his arms. Harry jolts at the contact and his voice is weak when he says, “You’re still dressed.”

Nick laughs and peppers kisses all over Harry’s tear streaked face, “You did good, Harold. You ready for bed?”

“But we didn’t come,” Harry protests, struggling to keep his eyes open as Nick unbuckles his collar.

“Plenty of time for that. I’ve still got you a few more days, haven’t I?”

 

* * *

 

The drop is bad the next morning. Harry’s even clingier than usual and refuses to be separated from Nick the entire day. They go shopping at Selfridges, for lunch at Pixie’s, and dinner at Nobu. Harry drives Nick to work after and they get papped entering the Radio One building. Harry smiles for the camera but his face darkens once they get inside the building, “Should have given them a real scoop. Should have kissed you right in the doorway. Nothing management could do then.”

“Harry,” Nick reaches out his hand but lets it fall back down to his side.

“I know,” Harry punches the lift button forcefully. “I know I can’t. There’s the other boys to think about. And not just them - everyone involved with One Direction. Paul and Lou. Everyone. I can fuck this up for them. And I know that, but I’m just so angry.”

“It’s probably just the drop,” Nick tells him.

“The drop doesn’t make me angry,” Harry insists. “It makes me all weepy.”

Nick shrugs, “It’s not the same every time. This time you’re angry. We’ll get you a cuppa once we get to the studio – that helps. I won’t even tease you when you put eight sugars in it.”

Matt corners Nick when Harry’s off fixing the tea and fixes Nick with a look: “There’s not a guest in tonight.”  

“Okay…” Nick says. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I saw the paparazzi on my way in,” Matt explains. Nick continues to stare at him blankly. Matt adds: “They’re here for you, Nick. You and Harry. He’s not scheduled to come in tonight but they were waiting for you. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“They probably just wanted Harry. It’ll be fine. I bet I won’t even get a mention. I never do; I’d need breasts for that.”

“Just be careful, okay Nick? I’m not saying it’s the same, but with the Savile thing the papers are looking to crucify the BBC and they’ll use the age difference; you know they will. And there’s talk of some time slots being moved around on Radio One and they’re looking at you.”

“I’m not going to stop spending time with him for a better time slot,” Nick says and that’s the closest he’s gotten to admitting anything.

Matt puts his headphones on, “I’m not asking you to.”

Harry bumbles back into the studio, pushing the door open with his skinny ass and wincing as pain flares up and he’s reminded of the night before.  He sets a cup of tea down in front of Nick and takes up residence on one of the couches out of the view of the cameras, “You’re right. Tea helps.”

“Told you,” Nick slides his headphones on and spends the entire show dodging Matt Fincham’s knowing looks.

 

* * *

 

There is an article in the Sun the next day, and it’s only a few lines but it’s enough that Nick gets an e-mail and Harry gets a strongly worded voice message after he screens his publicist’s call. Nick starts to suggest that they skip out on the Kanye and  Jay-Z concert, but Harry gets a mulish expression on his face and refuses to do more than take separate cars. 

Nick loves watching Harry on stage, but this is the first time he’s been in an audience with him and he thinks he likes it more. Likes having Harry next to him while they do crazy dance moves. Likes having Harry’s gravely voice in his ear just for him and not for hundreds of screaming girls. Likes that he’s close enough to touch.

Hates that he’s got to say goodbye in the morning.


	6. and i don't want to miss you tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from Iris - Goo Goo Dolls
> 
> Thanks as always to my lovely beta who puts up with all my nonsense and corrects my constant fragments.

“Do you ever think that maybe we’re getting too old for this?”

Nick tears his eyes away from where he’s been watching the bartender serve everyone but him, “Too old to wait for drinks? Yeah, I’m there.”

“I mean all of this. The drinking, the drugs, the late nights, the boys…”

“This is the first you’ve been out in a month,” Nick reminds him dryly. The bartender finally comes his way and he changes his order to a double; he’s thinking he might need it.

“I think I’m ready to get married,” Henry blurts out, ignoring Nick’s blithe comment and twirling his straw absently in his empty glass.  “I’ve been looking at rings.”

Nick stills, his knuckles tightening on the rim of the bar, “He’ll say yes. You know he will.”

“Yeah,” Henry’s got a dreamy look on his face. “He’s pretty great.”

His phone going off in his pocket is a welcome relief and Nick slaps down a tenner on the counter, “You take this one. I’ve got a call.”

He’s outside before the phone even starts ringing and he answers even though he’d usually screen a call with an unknown number because it’s a United States country code and, well, that’s where Harry is. He’s grateful he did when Louis’ voice comes blaring down the line, higher than usual with panic, “Grimmy?”

“Alright, Louis?”

“Thank god you’re awake. There’s something wrong with Harry.”

Nick’s heart stutters in his chest, “What happened?”

“I haven’t got a clue,” Louis confesses. “I just found him like this. He’s shaking and crying and he’s still in his clothes from last night. Is this what a panic attack looks like? He wanted me to call you.  It’s the only words I could get out of him. Should I call a doctor?”

“Not yet,” Nick takes a deep breath and moves further out of earshot of the house music spilling out of the club. “Did he take anything? Check his nostrils and his eyes.”

“I think he’s clean. His pupils are blown out but they aren’t bloodshot.”

“What happened last night? Anything that might have triggered him?”

“I don’t know! Just the usual: meet and greet and then the concert. He had been ill, just a cold, but his throat was all fucked up still and Liam had to cover some solos. Then he went straight back to the hotel after.”

“Okay. Louis, this is going to sound ridiculous, but I need you to cuddle him a bit. And can you put me on speakerphone?”

There’s a shuffling sound from the other end of the line as Louis obeys and his voice sounds more distant when he replies, “Okay, you’re on speaker.”

“Harry,” Nick breathes out. “You okay, popstar?”

“Nick,” Harry’s voice is harsh and frantic and there’s another kerfuffle on the line as he scrambles for the phone. His voice is louder when he repeats, “Nick.”

“Harold, will you let Louis help you drink some water?”

“I don’t… I… Nick.”

“Louis, tell Harry to drink the water. Be firm.”

Nick can sense Louis’ eye roll from across the ocean but Louis continues to listen to Nick and they manage to get Harry to drink down a couple gulps of water. When Harry finally speaks his words are frantic and coming out half-formed as he babbles into the phone, “Nick, I let everyone down. I shouldn’t have gone out so much, but I did and now I can’t even perform.”

“Deep breaths, Harry,” Nick tells him. “It’s not your fault you’re poorly. You weren’t licking toilet seats or letting people sneeze on you, were you? A bus full of teenagers; I’m surprised you haven’t all got mono.”

Harry snorts into the phone and Nick can’t help smiling at the ridiculous noise, “There you go, Harold. Can you smile for Louis?”

“That’s very nice, Harry,” Louis’ voice audibly cracks.

Nick grips his phone tighter and walks along the curb like it’s a tightrope as he keeps a steady stream of words pouring down the line, “There’s a good boy. You’ll be home soon and I can cuddle you proper, but now you got Louis to take care of you. He takes good care of you doesn’t he, popstar? Tells you what to do when your head gets confused?”

“He’s m’best mate, but he doesn’t want to live with me anymore.”

“Harry,” Louis sounds exhausted through the tiny speaker. “You said it was a good idea that we got our own places. Like proper adults.”

“I only said that because you didn’t want to live with me. You don’t even want to spend time with me anymore.”

“I’ll give you a key and you can come over whenever you want,” Louis promises.  “It’s just hard because of the fans and Eleanor keeps getting hate, but that doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

A gaggle of girls spill out of the club and nearly knocks Nick over in their quest for a cab. The commotion startles him out of his haze of concentration and he’s hit in the gut with the feeling that he’s eavesdropping on something not meant for him. His voice sounds too loud to his own ears as he interrupts, “Hey, popstar. I’ve got to get home, but talk to Louis, drink some water, and try and get a little bit of sleep. And call me when you wake up. You too, Louis.”

 

* * *

 

 

The time change means Nick doesn’t get a phone call until mid-afternoon and spends the day in a haze of vague distress. He eats three Mars bars for breakfast and the guilt drives him to go buy a pair of running trainers. He doesn’t actually go for a run because he worries he’ll be sick after all of the chocolate and he doesn’t much like running. It’s Louis who calls first, his voice shaking but firm as he demands: “Tell me what’s going on, Grimshaw. What did you do to Harry?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Nick pushes his quiff out of his face and he begins to pace the length of his flat. “You of all people know how he is. He gets all up in his head and worries about disappointing people. So sometimes he needs people to tell him what to do and to tell him that he’s done a good job after he’s done it.”

Louis’ voice goes high and incredulous, “Our whole lives are people telling us what to do.”

“Not like this,” Nick struggles to find the words. He’s got an academic understanding of submission, but he can’t put himself in those shoes, not entirely. Harry tried to explain why he liked it, kept mumbling about trust and control and choice and how it makes him happy. “Look, ask Harry about it. I don’t think it’s my place and he can explain it better than I can.”

“He was saying your name, Nick,” Louis snaps. “You’re involved in this somehow and I want to know why.”

“Well, maybe if you stopped avoiding him then you’d know already,” Nick shoots back. There’s silence at the end of the line and it’s long enough that Nick checks to make sure they haven’t disconnected. He shouldn’t have said it – shouldn’t have used what he heard last night or what Harry confessed in short texts spread out over weeks about Louis pulling away. “Look. Don’t you ever just want to not think for a little while? Just get away from being a popstar? That’s what this is, and last night was him not being able to and letting it build up until it broke him.”

“And you help him forget?” Louis’ tone is carefully measured.

“Sometimes.”

“And you said. You said last night sometimes I do?”

“I think so, maybe a little bit. You’re very… assertive with him. I think it helps. When I’m not there to-”

“Fuck him? I’m not stupid Nick. I can put two and two together.  And it’s not like that with me and Harry. Did he tell you it was?”

“It’s not always sexual,” Nick tries to explain. “Just you asking him to get you a bottle of water or like… if he’s struggling in an interview he likes it when you pinch his thigh, that calms him right down.”

“Pinch his thigh?”

There’s a shuffling on the line and then Nick can hear Harry’s voice sleep roughed in the background, “Louis, what are you doing in my toilet?”

“Your boyfriend just told me to pinch your thigh,” Louis tells him. “So you’re going to take the phone and we’re never going to talk about this again.”

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Nick protests into the phone, but is ignored as Louis and Harry pass over the phone.

“Hi, Nick. Sorry about last night. I didn’t wake you up did I?”

“Course not. Always up, me. You feeling better today?”

“Yeah. Not really sure why I was acting like that to be honest. Felt kind of like a drop, but different.”

“I think you should call Jonathan,” Nick admits and it feels a bit like stabbing himself in the pinky with a corkscrew but it’s the right thing to say, probably. “He’ll switch it up but he’s more like you than me. He likes pain and likes a bit of a boss about. So he can maybe explain what you’re going through.”

“But I thought he was a banned subject to be avoided at all cost?”

“Well I was wrong. You should talk to him. It’s not fair for me to be your only reference in this. Especially since I’m not exactly an objective party.”

“Okay, I will. If you want me to,” Harry agrees. He’s silent for a moment and then adds, “I’m coming home soon.”

“Are you? Feels like I just got rid of you,” Nick teases as if he doesn’t have a red H written on the page of his diary that marks Harry’s return date.

“Just a couple weeks. Have you, um… been seeing anyone?”

“Harry,” Nick sighs heavily into the phone. “We said we wouldn’t do this.”

“Right, I know. Of course I know,” Harry takes in a deep breath. “Sorry. It’s... whatever this is. This drop.”

“Nobody serious,” Nick relents. “Just people I hate, remember?”

“Oh, good.”

“Harry I thought of something that might help the last couple of weeks while you’re away. Might make you feel a little bit more in control. If you’re up for it.”

“Yeah, course I am.”

“I don’t want you to come until you’re in front of me,” Nick tells him. “Do you think you can do that for me?”

Harry’s breath catches and releases in a shuddery gasp, “Yeah. Starting now?”

“Mmhmm. And when you get back I want you to fuck me.”

 

* * *

 

****

“They’re letting Moyles go,” Matt tells Nick as soon as he arrives at the station on the first of July. “Nobody is supposed to know yet, but Maria in accounting told me on my way in.”

“What? But his contract goes another year and a half doesn’t it?”

Matt shrugs, “They’re buying it out I guess. He’s been losing listeners and the ones he still has are outside the demographic.”

“Scott won’t get breakfast, then. Not if they’re looking for a younger audience. They’ll pick Greg, yeah? You think they’ll move me to daytime?”

“Have to, right? They’ll be moving the whole schedule around. Nick - they could give you breakfast.”

“Holy shit,” Nick collapses into a nearby chair. “Shit. They won’t, though. They’ll give it to Greg. Or they’ll get someone outside the BBC to come in and we’ll all hate him.”

Matt shrugs, “Maybe. We’ll find out soon enough. Ben’s scheduling everyone for meetings within the next few weeks and they’re looking to have Moyles gone by September.”

Nick pulls out his phone and types out a message to Harry: Moyles is leaving R1 so I need you to go to the toilet and wank. Don’t come. And I want photographic evidence.

Do I have to think about Moyles while I do it? Harry texts back. Because that might be a deal breaker.

 

* * *

 

****

Nick is glad he decided to do this before Harry arrived. He’s never liked making a show of opening himself up the way Harry seems to enjoy it. It’s much easier to slick up two fingers and to dive straight in. No nonsense stretching in the shower while he lets his conditioner rest the recommended minutes before rinsing.

He’s left the door open so he can hear Harry calling for him when he enters the flat. Nick hollers down to him, “I’m in the shower!”

“New place looks great. You’ve got a proper couch and everything now,” Harry’s voice is hoarse and close by so Nick ducks his head out of the shower to watch as Harry finishes stripping off his shirt and pants in front of the sink. .

“I’m a grown up now,” Nick grins and makes childish grabby hands at Harry until he climbs into the shower. “Think I might get a dog.”

Harry is harder than he used to be, his muscles small and firm from too much exercise and not enough food. Nick wraps a hand fully around Harry’s hip bone and mumbles into his neck, “You’re a toothpick.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Harry nudges Nick’s jawbone with his nose until Nick raises his head and captures Harry’s chapped lips in a bruising kiss. The water pouring around them blocks out sound and intensifies the feel of Harry’s slick body against his and their tongues tangling together.

Nick runs his hands carefully over the new ink on Harry’s arm, “You’re turning into a doodle pad.”

“I like them,” Harry presses a kiss to the crinkles at the corner of Nick’s left eye.

“Never said I didn’t,” Nick strokes his hand down Harry’s side. “Let me wash your hair and then I want you to fuck me.”

Harry stumbles and nearly falls on the slippery ground, slamming heavily into Nick, “Crap. Yeah. I want that.”

They’re both soaking wet when they flop onto Nick’s bed and there’s still shampoo in Harry’s curls but Harry is hard and hot and eager against Nick’s thigh. Nick tugs Harry back by his hair and looks him in the eye, “Were you a good boy, Harry? Have you waited?”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles, his eyes hazy and unfocused as he slips down down down. “Did what you told me.”

“Good, because I’m all prepped and ready for you,” Nick rolls them so Harry’s on top and wraps his legs around Harry’s skinny hips, his heels digging into the crease where Harry’s thighs meet his ass. “In the shower before you got here. I figured you’d be a bit eager.”

Harry lets out a mewl and ruts up against the crease of Nick’s pelvis, “Yeah. Need it now, Nick.”

“Condoms on the table,” Nick offers. Harry whimpers and and mouths at Nick’s shoulder without making any move to reach for one. Nick cups Harry around the back of his neck with one hand and reaches with his other hand to grab a condom. He rolls it down over Harry’s thick cock and murmurs encouragement, “C’mon, popstar. Fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, lining up and pushing carefully inside. Nick guides him in, using his ankles wrapped around Harry’s thighs to control the strength and timing of his thrusts. Nick slides his hand up Harry’s flat stomach and tweaks a nipple between two fingers. He digs his fingernails into Harry’s pecs and drags them down, leaving behind deep red marks.

It’s been weeks since Harry’s come so he doesn’t last long; he rolls his hips a few more times and spills himself inside Nick. In a flash, Nick flips them over and shifts so that he’s got his knees planted on either side of Harry’s neck, the position is only slightly awkward, his thigh muscles straining as he holds himself above Harry’s throat  His cock is hard; it drips as he strokes the head against Harry’s face, leaving thin streaks of precome over Harry’s cheekbones.

Harry’s eyes are black and his eyelashes fluttering as he asks, “Are you going to come on me?”

“Yeah,” Nick pants, fisting tight around his shaft. “I’m going to streak my come all over your pretty little blush. Paint you with it. Get you dirty like the slut you are.”

Harry moans, his red-bitten mouth dropping open and his tongue poking out the way it does when he’s eating. Nick smacks his cock against Harry’s face the way they do in porn, rubs the head of his cock against Harry’s tongue, letting him taste, before resuming his furious strokes millimeters away from his face. “Do it. Come on me. Mark me, Nick.”

At those words Nick loses it and spills thick globs of come across Harry’s chin and cheek. Harry licks a drop off his full bottom lip and Nick pumps his foreskin over his cock to shake out the last remaining drops onto Harry’s tongue. He smears the messy head of his dick over Harry’s face, rubbing it in.

Once they manage to catch their breath, Nick gathers Harry up from the wet bed and carries him to the couch. He then fetches a wet washcloth and a soft blanket, carefully cleaning Harry’s face and his softened prick before tucking them both under the blanket. Harry presses his pinkened face into Nick’s chest hair and mumbles, “Why are we on the couch?”

“Because we were stupid and didn’t dry off after the shower,” Nick reminds him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m floating,” Harry noses his way into Nick’s armpit and breaths deep. “Missed you.”

Nick presses a kiss to Harry’s damp curls, “Missed you too.”

****

* * *

 

****

Nick gets called in to Big Boss Ben Cooper’s office a week later. From what he’s heard he’s the first DJ they’re meeting with and its either to fire him or promote him. There are six people in the room when Nick enters the boardroom; surely they’re not firing him execution style in front of all of the people he’s offended.

“Nick, we’ll cut straight to it,” Ben says after Nick’s been seated and brought tea. “We want you to take over the breakfast show.”

When Nick was a child he used to go out into the field behind the school and would spin around until he fell to the ground. He’d look up into the pretend he could feel the earth spinning underneath him, moving around the sun at millions of kilometers an minute. That’s what this feels like.

“If I do this,” Nick says carefully;  he’s just had his dream job handed to him on a platter so he’s not sure why he’s putting conditions on it especially for something he didn’t even know he wanted until this is exact moment, but he can’t not ask for this now that he knows. “I want to come out. Officially.”

“Yes, of course. New generation. We wouldn’t have asked you to do this if we didn’t want you to be yourself. I’m going to be honest with you, Nick. A lot of the board wanted Greg. He’s got more experience and he’s more polished than you are, but today’s audience doesn’t want polished. They want a Sara Cox. So I want you to be yourself and go out, within reason, and be interesting. Now, let’s talk logistics. We’re going to keep Matt as your producer if you’re alright with that.”

“Of course,” Nick feels a little overwhelmed that this is suddenly his life. His dream job and a popstar waiting at home in his bed. “I love Matt.”

The move on to talk salary and the move to the new Radio One building and dates. When Nick leaves a few hours later he’s got a year long contract in his hands for his lawyer to look over and a shit eating grin on his face that won’t go away. He texts Harry: party tonight at mine!

Harry arrives back at Nick’s from the album photoshoot with a carrier bag full of champagne and a box full of Ben’s cookies, “Congratulations!”

Matt Fincham walks out of the kitchen and points an accusing finger at Nick, “You’re not supposed to tell anyone until the official announcement!”

“I haven’t said a word!” Nick protests. “I just told him I was having a party.”

“And I assumed he wouldn’t be having an I’m Fired party,” Harry adds. He then frowns, “Actually you’re exactly the type of person who would have a party if they lost their job... but Finchy’s given that away so I’m guessing: you got the breakfast show?” A wide smile spreads across Nick’s face and Harry lets out an excited woop. He drops the bags in the entryway and leaps onto Nick, the force toppling them over the back of the couch. “I knew it! You’ll be brilliant.”

“Not a word to anyone or Fincham will have our heads,” Nick warns him.

****

* * *

 

****

“Another round of mimosas for the new host of the Radio One breakfast show please,” Pixie tells their waiter from behind an expensive pair of sunglasses and an air of slight superiority that comes from being born into a ridiculously wealthy family. If Nick didn’t love her so much he might hate her. She turns back to Nick, swirling her straw in her empty glass, “Did Henry tell you about Dave?”

“Yeah,” Nick laughs. “Can you imagine one of us getting married? I feel like we’re still too young.”

“I’m too young, but some of you lot are definitely getting old. You’re going to be twenty eight in a month.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Still no plans of settling down? I met a cute guy the other day who would definitely be interested.”

“Not sure if it’s in the cards for me. Might get a dog though.”

“That’s a good idea. Might convince you to exercise if you’ve got a dog to walk.”

“I’ve been going to McKenzi,” Nick insists. “I’ve just been busy this week with... things.”

“Right,” Pixie drawls.. “It’s nice seeing Harry around again.”

“Yeah,” Nick replies carefully. “He’s been gone awhile.”

“How long is he back for?”

“About eight months. I mean he’ll be gone some of those weeks obviously. They’ll have album promotion and award season and music videos, but yeah. About eight months until the next tour. We’ll all be sick of him by the time he leaves.”

“Are you two...?”

“We’re having fun,” Nick replies. “While he’ll have me.”

They’re distracted briefly by the waiter arriving with their drinks. Pixie takes a sip and gives the waiter a small smile of approval, he blushes and nearly knocks over a vase of flowers as he rushes away.

****

* * *

****

“Were you going to tell me?” Harry asks, bursting into Nick’s flat with a copy of the Guardian open to a page with Nick’s face on it clutched in his hand.

“You were at the party,” Nick reminds him.

Harry shakes his head, newly cut curls flopping about his ears, “About coming out! I got called into a meeting today about it and I didn’t even say anything.”

“Oh, crap.” Nick’s stomach sinks all the way down to his knobbly knees. “I wasn’t even thinking about...”

“No,” Harry insists, straddling Nick on the couch and peppering his face with sloppy kisses. “No, you were thinking about you like you should have been. Don’t worry about me. You’re amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“It’s not like everyone didn’t already know,” Nick shrugs and tries to avoid Harry’s kisses. “I mean it took me long enough... but it felt good, yeah? To finally say it.”

Harry kisses him again and gasps into his mouth as he fumbles with his zipper, “God, I want to ride you so fucking bad right now.”

They’re too eager and they only manage to get their jeans down to mid thigh before Nick is sliding his cock between Harry’s ass cheeks, spreading them with his hands so he can fuck himself between them. Harry lets out a moan when the head catches on the rim of his hole and grinds back against Nick.

He moves his body like he’s starring in a porno and Nick will have to remember to ask him what videos he’s been watching while on tour, but for now he’s focusing on the glide of his cock against the downy hair lining Harry’s crack and the fact they’re done shooting for the video so Nick can leave deep red teeth marks across Harry’s collarbone.

“Where’d we leave the lube?” Nick asks, licking his way up Harry’s neck and pressing a kiss beneath his ear. “Fuck, we didn’t leave it in the garden did we?”

Harry wiggles on Nick’s lap, “No, I brought it inside. Check under the cushion.”

“Can’t find it,” Nick returns his hands to Harry’s tiny bum and presses his cheeks tight around his cock.

“Can you just use spit?”

Nick laughs, “Dries too quickly to use as lube. Stop watching porn.”

Harry groans and shifts back on Nick’s thighs so Nick can take them both in hand, “Like this, then.”

“Yeah, this works,” Nick allows Harry to pull him lengthwise on the couch so they can frantically rut up against each other like a couple of teenagers, Harry riding Nick’s thigh like a dog in heat while Nick kneads at his ass and pulls him firmly against his cock until they both spill hot and thick between them.

Nick pulls his sticky shirt off and brings Harry back down for a kiss. They lay their until they regain their breath and Nick asks, “So what did your PR team say?”

Harry shakes his head and buries his face into Nick’s chest hair, “Said it’s fine going to events with you when it’s just a bromance, but if you’re out then I’ve got to drive separately.”

“That’s alright, we can do that.” Nick slides his fingers into Harry’s curls and scratches at his scalp. “Easy.”

“Not just that. They want me to set me up on a date,” Harry mumbles. “Get me in the papers with a girl.”

“Cara will do it,” Nick offers. “You’ve met her. She could do with the press and she’s great so you’d at least have fun.”

“What if I want to come out?”

Nick’s hand stills and his throat feels thick with something resembling pity, but he replies neutrally: “Is that something you’re still interested in? You said before that...”

“That I can’t. I still can’t. Nothing’s changed for me.” Harry shuffles up Nick’s body so he can prop himself up on one arm and look Nick in the eye. “Two years. I’ll play the game for this album and the next since that’s what we’re under contract for but after that...  No more hiding.”

Nick knows how easily two years becomes three and three becomes four, but Harry’s eyes are so wide and earnest that all he can do is press a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth, “I’ll set things up with Cara.”


End file.
